


Retrace

by inkedvigilante



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Alternate Universe - Apocalypse, Death, Drama, F/M, Gen, Hatred, Mentions Cannibalism, Plot, Some Humor, UPDATED and synced in chapter lengths and word count from its original FanficNet site
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-03
Updated: 2016-08-16
Packaged: 2017-12-14 02:05:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 22
Words: 153,110
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/831463
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/inkedvigilante/pseuds/inkedvigilante
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p></p><div class="center">
  <p>After the Calamity overturned the world, Hungary awakens in a nightmare. Where are any of her allies in this hell? She barely remembers anything before The End struck and all she has is a strange needle in her pocket to survive. But that is clearly not enough.</p>
  <p>Switzerland on the other hand, is suffering the harsh consequences of his actions and the main thing for him now is to keep his only hope alive. But should he surrender his pride and stubbornness for it?</p>
  <p>In the meantime, one other Nation has everything to his favour. Nature's wrath hardly scrapped his land and now he seeks a safe zone for his surviving people. As he searches for other Nations to help him, he finds the one, out of all of them, who will probably lead him to his demise.</p>
  <p>The Calamity brought despair and with it: lies, illusions and charm. But there is something else worse that will bring these three Nations to a collision course.<br/>Time is ticking.</p>
  <p><b>Warning:</b>blood, corpse, insults, minor gore<br/></p>
</div>
            </blockquote>





	1. The First Prey

**Author's Note:**

>   
> _Inspired by Glassamilk's Gutters and Sunruner's Walls. (You do not have to have read these two to read this)_  
>  Prequel is complete **(Retrace Pavements)**
> 
> This whole fic is also located in [Fanfiction.net](http://www.fanfiction.net/s/9097612/1/Retrace)!  
> . . .
> 
> Hetalia does not belong to me.

He was trying to keep quiet, but the drag of the wooden sled against the cold stone rattled with noise. Droplets of water plopped on the wet, slippery cavern floors, rhythmically disguising the pitter-patter of little feet lurking behind him. Though he knew a young child was following him, he had only smiled and proceeded to the cave's exit.

Wiping a bead of sweat from his forehead, the young man hastily hauled the barrow through the hidden passage way. He left it leaning against the mouth of the cave and went back inside to fetch the last of his bags. The moment he re-entered, sad eyes and tiny fingers, greeted him.

"Are you leaving us again?" asked the little girl, tugging on his dark red-purple coat as he picked up the last of his things. "Where are you going? Can I go with you?"

The young male kneeled to her level and with a gloved hand he lifted her chin. "I won't be gone for so long."

The girl was only six years old and yet, her tired eyes displayed a motherly concern years beyond her age. A Calamity, they called it, had shaken the world more than a month ago and tremendously changed the people who survived it, including this one little child he cared for.

Her name was Nadia, an orphan who grew fond of him after he had rescued her from the terrifying events of June. She was one of many who were saved and safely hidden in the caverns they now called home.

 _"Copilule, îţi mai spun o dată_ ," he smiled reassuringly, wiping a tear from her cheek. "I leave once in a while because I want to buy you toys and get some…um…groceries. I've been gone before and I've returned, see? Besides, your friends always keep you company, am I right?"

The little girl whimpered. "But they're not as fun as you, Mister Alex! You always have jokes and…and sometimes everyone here…we just don't know if you'll ever come back and stuff!"

" _Nu te teme de zmei_." The man hugged her tightly, letting her sob in his arms.

He was gentle towards children and he loved them like they were his own. Unfortunately he had never adopted any, nor had his own sons or daughters. He wasn’t to have any children under his name because he was an entirely different being with larger responsibilities than a man. With a body of one, human-shaped, alike in appearance and in every aspect a _person_ , but with a part in his soul that deviated from the norm.

He was not the only one of this kind. There were others out there who had probably survived the Calamity and he hoped to find any of them.

For a long while, he did not say anything as he was immersed with the cave's ambience and Nadia's tiny sniffles. He could hear the slithering droplets of a stream, soaking the walls and floors of the cave, and the sounds seemed to slow down time.

All of a sudden, he sensed silent footsteps and anxious heartbeats. A small group of folks reluctantly approached them, and he felt now was the time for him to leave.

The man stood and took his bags and gas mask, as people emerged out of the shadows, watching him prepare to depart. They looked at him like he was their Saviour and the notion was a heavy burden on his shoulders.

He turned to an odd bunch of men lined up before the group and addressed the usual routines when he traveled out. Every healthy person in the caves had a responsibility with an addition to more jobs when he was absent. Nadia, though a child, had a duty to look after the other children.

His patrol men, trustworthy and stealthy soldiers whom he had chosen to take charge, had the utmost crucial duty to secure the outside perimeters of the cave. He made sure every single individual adhered to each other; from the youngest to the eldest. Everyone contributed.

Order among them was manageable because they were a large populace, content, satisfied, and simply grateful to be alive. No one really complained with the living conditions in the vast tunnelling grottos. They had each other to look after and there was not much to complain about with a good food supply and descent living materials.

Before disappearing out the passage, he glanced back one more time and grinned merrily to the worried faces of the men, women and children who depended on him.

When circumstances despaired and provisions dwindled, he was forced to leave and travel outside, usually alone. He was always missed by his people, especially the children. His absence had always worried them and at times, they claimed feeling quite vulnerable without him.

Their concern gnawed him inside. Alas, he had to go through it. He had to leave every now and then.

He had solely made himself _the_ leader after all, and not only that, he was a stronger being, a longer, lasting, youthful representative _being_ of them. Of his country.

He was an embodiment, a Nation-being. His people did not know, and they would probably never ever know. Though, he was not the only one living in deception. Nation-beings abounded the earth ever since mankind had established territories. The oldest Nation-beings had died off of age or faded away into memories, their bodies turning mortal and human. But as people had founded more land and established new countries, his kind flourished, born and raised into nations. They were made to maintain their people, their history, their country and their legacy...

"I will return," the young man boldly reassured, hoping to lighten the mood. "I have always returned! Maybe this time, I'll bring back a rubber chicken!" His beloved audience chuckled, and with the tip of his hat and a wink, he was gone.

One of the patrol men slowly administered the people to their responsibilities. Nadia lingered at the exit, gazing listlessly at the passage, as if the man who left was only playing a game of peekaboo. An old woman and one of the skinny patrol men joined her. The old senior was one of the cooks who managed the children's meals. She usually looked after the little girl, because out of all other children, Nadia always reminded her of when she was young.

"Dear, let's get cooking for super," sighed the old woman, resting a hand on the girl's shoulder.

A patrol man nicknamed "Lanky", stood between Nadia and the passage. The soldier was skinny, and it was quite obvious he was more of a runner than a skilful fighter. His nickname actually came by accident. The so-called Saviour mentioned it once to poke fun of him, and then the name stuck ever since. Lanky, whose actual name was Marku Sala, never minded the label – in fact he grew quite fond of it. He felt like the name was a knightly title given by their respected odd leader. At least, it was a step up in the ranks reputation-wise and since none of the patrol men wore uniforms, a nickname gave recognition.

"Kid, he told us he'll be gone for 'nother eight days," he said.

For a moment, Nadia just looked at him, wondering if he was playing soldier or was actually one of the chosen patrol men. She nodded quickly and skittered away deep into the candle-lit cavern hall, her footsteps echoing behind her.

The old woman turned to the patrol man. "She's just frightful when he leaves!"

"Like the rest of us, Miss," Lanky told her. "But if he don' travel, then we're all, y'know, doomed."

"I still don't understand why he does not bring any of you along! He needs all the help he can get!" The old woman huffed and kicked at the dirt.

Lanky sighed, glancing at the passageway as if something was going to enter. "I know, Miss…that's something I've nev' come to understand from 'm. He told us he'll be faster travelin' by himself 'cause h'knows the short routes, Miss. Said 'e can dodge any danger 'nd stuff. Perhaps he's jus' invisible or somethin'...

"We don' know all of 'im, Miss, he jus' knows what's going on more d'n us, y'know?" He shrugged. "I think 'es after som'thin'…maybe lookin' fer someone. But it's none of our business to pry, y'know?"

"I don't care what he thinks is going on or what he's after! That gas mask will not protect him forever!" The woman threw her arms up and started after Nadia. "I just hope he knows how much he's got to lose here!"

Lanky strolled after her to safely escort through the cavern halls. "He's got an agenda, Miss. I think he'll tell us what's in it when 'e comes back."

* * *

 

_Corpses._

A revolting stench lingered in her nostrils, and to make matters worse, an enormous amount of weight was pressing against her body to suffocation. The woman's chest heaved in vain for a gulp of precious air.

_Air._

She choked and coughed out a thick, curdling liquid forming in her throat. Feeling as if she was wedged under something of extreme weight, her hands and feet felt numb. Limbs trapped under unusually soft dirt, it was hard to wriggle around. _It's so dark,_ she thought to herself _. Where am I? What? I am…Hungary. Elizaveta Hédévary. Yes. I…I…can't recall what…Istenem, my head's throbbing! Water. I feel thirsty…._

Her body barely moving, the Nation opened her eyes. Horror descended in her soul at the sight.

_Corpses._

She was caved in a piling mass of pale, lifeless bodies with only a plank of wood holding up the dead right above her. The bodies were so numerous that there was barely any light from the surface.

_Corpses._

It was a cave made up of the dead and she felt like one of the bricks holding it up. The bodies trapping her were cold and drenched with muddied water dripping from an unknown source. She started sweating. Under these conditions, who knew how long she could stay alive in here? How long had she even _been in_ here? She could feel heat emanating from the surface above, but the bodies surrounding her were strangely cold. It was rather disturbing to find any comfort.

Among the dead there were some naked but the rest were clothed with tattered rags. Most of them were men and women, but what really broke her heart were the few lifeless bodies of children among them. There were probably layers and layers of bodies around her. Digging herself out of this mess would take hours. She was virtually drowning under the spell of her worst nightmares.

Hungary struggled upright after freeing her limbs. She gave herself a quick stretch, and then noticed the flower piece missing from her hair. A little distraught, she brushed it aside and focused on the matters at hand, trying not to panic as her senses became more and more overwhelmed with every second.

Resisting the urge to retch from the sight and smell, she pushed her way upwards. She was careful not to knock the wooden plank for fear that the dead would collapse on her. Slowly but surely, her legs and arms writhed through climbing over body after body. She was a little fortunate that the corpses were easy to shove aside as she wormed her way through them. The Hungarian struggled to overcome the claustrophobic proximity of the dead, keeping calm, breathing through her nose and gently handling the corpses with soft nudges and grips. In an unsettling way, it felt intimate.

It was a grueling process, and the dread of one of the corpses suddenly coming to life and attacking her lingered in her mind. The scent of decomposing flesh made her feel nauseous and shake, but she was able to make good progress.

A moment passed when the mass gave a sickening drop beneath her. As she paused for a moment to regain her breath, Hungary figured the wood plank below finally gave way. The collapse beneath opened up a hole above, letting in a bright ray of light shine down like a beacon of hope. With newfound spirit, the Nation climbed on, but as she neared the top she gradually started coughing; what looked like snow fall was actually ash and it was filling her lungs rapidly.

Her lungs writhed in pain as she climbed up higher, coughing until something thick choked in her throat. Something like…mucus? Panicking at the thought of blood and ash, she tore a shred of cloth off her tattered uniform and held it up to her mouth to limit ash intake.

Her throat convulsed violently and her eyes watered. She collapsed in a fit of coughs as her body involuntarily tried to free itself of the glue-like congealment. To her surprise, the fluid was not blood, but an illuminating blue-green. _Weird. Since when does mucus glow?_ Hungary thought as she cleared the rest of the strange substance from her lungs. She was so confused. _Glowing green? What is this, from the ash…?_

Her hand wandered in one of the pockets of her torn military uniform and fished out a half empty syringe. The liquid in it was the same colour. _Who -?_ She gasped at the memory of a man – the man who orchestrated an everlasting symphony. Austria. _"Just you and me."_

Returning the needle back in her pocket, his memory gave her a renewed fiery spirit that propelled her up the seemingly endless mountain of corpses. _Where are you, Roderich?_ Eyes squinting at the light from the surface, she hacked more ashy mucus out of her body before reaching out of the dead mound. When she emerged from the pit tears rolled down her cheeks as a wave of sadness wrenched her heart.

The dead corpses were the bodies of her people.

She sobbed so hard, careless of the noise she made as she dragged herself out of the nightmare. For all she could tell, the place was grey and desolate with a constant haze of ash silently descending upon the earth. Although she dug herself out of the bodies, there was another ditch containing her. It was a much wider crater, the bodies had sunken even further at its epicentre where she lay by its brim. Thankfully, it was an easier climb to ground level.

Hungary peered over the crater and saw a dusty, grey plain with random spikes of charred trees. Alone and exhausted, the Nation stayed where she was, until her tears turned to fright when she noticed something overwhelming.

A sorrowful sight of carcasses scattered uniformly across the mound. The grotesque bodies that laid on top suffered heat but what made Hungary bolt upright horror-stricken were the sight of some of them cut up and torn like, they were… _half-eaten_.

There was a sudden growl within the Hungarian that surprised her. Hunger. _But I would have died long ago if I was famished…No. When have I…? How long_ has _it been…?_ She assumed that the green serum had something to do with this.

Austria gave it to her – a while ago _, maybe?_ And it had been working inside her body ever since she injected it – _which was when exactly?_ Clouded by hunger and trauma, she could barely recall what had happened.

Her stomach turned at the thought of feasting on the gruesome decay. _My people! My children! Istenem, you have forsaken me!_ Maddened and outraged, Hungary tore the silence with wails of pain that came from her heart. _I'm hungry! I don't know where I am! My people! Oh god, my children! This is your worst –!_ Her knees weakened and once again she collapsed to the ground in a sobbing heap. The silence was broken by her muffled cries as she fought to regain some composure. Within the passing minutes, Hungary closed her eyes to recover and find stillness. It was utterly quiet before she heard something just outside the crater.

Instinctively, she armed herself with a bone from one of the carcasses and quickly pressed her body against the crater's slope to hide. Heart racing, she could hear disembodied breathing coming closer. There were light footsteps and the sound of something heavy – possibly wooden – being dragged in the dust.

It stopped.

Something dropped to the ground in a thump and a wary silence followed.

Hungary clenched the long bone, like she would a sword.

Nothing stirred.

It was as if the thing above waited for her to make noise. A chilling thought shook her blood. _What if it's a…a man-eating creature?_

Taking a risk, she pulled herself together and peered over the slope, her bone ready to club the nearest beast. She froze when she saw a figure hunched over a wooden sled filled with crates. It was clearly unaware of her presence. Something about the figure did not look human, and when Hungary emerged out of the crater's wall to investigate she realized it was a decoy.

A gloved hand snatched her bone and clutched her good arm. Screaming, she wrestled her arm away from the stranger and kicked impulsively, only to stumble back down the slope.

From his lean stature, the stranger was a young man, wearing a dark purple-reddish coat, with folded sleeves, striped inside. He had on dark pants, sturdy, agile boots, and was wearing a hood over his head and a three-filter gas mask that covered his whole face. It was hard to tell who was beneath it at first, but the overcoat was somewhat familiar.

Defenseless and worn out, Hungary scrambled back. The Nation painfully anticipated for a pending attack, but instead, the stranger was examining the bone he held.

He chuckled. "Humor me with the _humerus_? You _are_ going mad." The young man disposed the bone, deeming it useless. "I can't believe that of all people of our kind I find _you_ first."

Hungary was thinking the same thing. She instantly recognized the accent and with a hiss in her voice she uttered his name with distaste. " _Románia_ …"

The stranger turned to face her and tossed his hood off carelessly. He flourished a small hat from his jacket pocket and placed it on his light gold-brown hair. Revealing his face behind the mask, he raised an eye-brow at her and smirked.

"You look ravishing in the colour _dead_ white," he said uninterestedly. He picked up his sled and started to tow it away.

Hungary pleaded the god above for a frying pan right now. She jumped to her feet furiously and stepped over the slope. Her rage ignited when she stumbled on to the surface to level with him.

"You son of a land-grabber!" She did not know why she was yelling. "Tell me where I am or I'll –" she broke off, a fit of coughs interrupting her. Stomach convulsing and knees giving in, once again she spewed out glowing fluids.

Romania approached her with a second gas mask. "A witch has cursed you," he mumbled, reluctantly handing it to her. "Not that you weren't cursed before or anything..."

"I am not taking that, you idiot! Especially from you!" Hungary resisted, not entirely meaning her words.

"Fine," Romania sighed, dropping the mask before her, his cheery tones diminished. "Take it from the ground then." And with that, he marched back to his sled.

Crouched and muddied on the ground, for a moment Hungary felt fragile. Olive hair in tangles, her face and skin was matted with sweat, dirt and ash. Hunger lurched her stomach. Staring out in the distance, she desperately wondered if her long lost companions were somewhere over the horizon. She thought for a moment. _Who else do I remember?_ The grey barren land bore nothing but blackened trees and a crater of the dead.

"Just tell me which way is west," she grumbled at the Romanian. "I want to get away from here…And I definitely do not want your pity."

"What makes you think I pity you?" replied the other Nation. "I am simply giving you things that would be able to last you…er…maybe for a day out here –give or take a couple of hours. Magyar, you have no idea what you're up against." In front of her, he dropped a pair of boots and a half-opened can of soup.

Hungary got up, disregarding the offered materials. She was frustrated at how it was Romania who found her and not someone else. _Why him?! Of all others…_ She gritted her teeth. The Hungarian Nation tried recalling the day of the Calamity, but her mind was a confusing whirl of disarray, from corpses to ash and needles. She started pacing back and forth in disappointment, trying to piece together the puzzle of memories spiralling in her brain.

Romania leaned against a blackened tree near his sled, watching her curiously. "What are you doing?" he asked.

Careful not to fall in, Hungary walked along the perimeter of the god-forsaken ditch. Remembering…

Sirens ringing, cars melting, people running, fires erupting with deadly fumes, her people crowding into the nearest shelters. There was a cry for her name… An earthquake dividing the manor she was in…The serum injecting in her body...Families running eastwards…Her pursuit for them…Buildings collapsing...The sink hole dragging her down… Austria. Prussia. Germany. Italy. Switzerland. Liechtenstein. Belarus. Turkey. The Words. The Great World Gathering. The Allegiances. Her Kingdom. The Austro-Hungarian Empire. The Revolts. The Wars…

It was all giving her a damned headache.

On the other end of the crater, Hungary glanced at the far distance beyond, and from what she could see there were ruins fogged up by ashes. The Great Plains. The edge of the rolling land of her beloved country. Even further, her eyes found a different colour sliced against the grey. Water? Hungary gasped. _The Danube._ The river could take her west to Austria. But she did not remember the river this close inland…

She walked back to where Romania stood; his back to her as he was putting away the decoy he had set up. Hungary begrudgingly replaced her torn boots with the ones Romania gave and picked up the soup he provided. She was infuriated at how the new boots fit snugly along her calves and how delicious the soup tasted when she drank it down. _Of all people…why?_

The other Nation could not help but let out a laugh, even with his back turned to her he could sense her growling. "Ha, ha! I can tell you've surrendered to those wicked things!"

Hungary kept calm but inside she wanted to explode. She picked up the mask and put it on. Thick air filled her lungs when she breathed in it, ash raked in her throat, making her cough. Romania hadn’t given her a good mask, or maybe it was just because he dropped it on the ground earlier.

"Wow…" Hungary grunted, loosening the mask from her face, she let it dangle around her neck uselessly. "You give people the crappiest things, Romania. It's no surprise."

She could tell Romania was grinning behind his gas filters. "I am saving the best ones for my people," he said. "They are far more important than you, you know. Oh! And I should have mentioned that I've just poisoned the soup!" Romania sarcastically added, as he tied up the load on his sled. "But don't you fret; I know this magical spell that will rid of all the bad things and whatnot...then again it might rid of _you_ entirely...Well if that happens, I won't have to worry about your little complaints. Now if I were you, I would shut up and head southeast."

Out of nowhere, Hungary violently shoved Romania to the dust, and then wrenched open one of his crates of supplies. _And head west!_ That was her plan, indeed an insanely rash one. She felt no resistance from Romania. _He's too much of a coward to fight back,_ she thought. _Ha! I am almost finished ransacking his first crate and –_ her hand suddenly felt a familiar object.

The Hungarian took out a lightweight stainless steel frying pan from one of the bags. Although used and burnt at the bottom, it was a beautiful sight to see. She looked closely. Romania's face was reflected on its surface. His eyes were dark and conniving.

In a mad frenzy, she swung the pan but missed. Romania grabbed the mask looped around her neck and pulled. Trying to twist herself free while maintaining her balance, Hungary swung her new weapon around to knock him out cold, but his hand gripped her arm constraining her assault. The strap of the mask along her neck choked her the more she struggled.

"Stop strangling yourself, damn it!" Romania hissed in her ear. "Stupid witch, just relax and I'll let go! But I'm not letting you steal anything from me!"

Hungary had had enough, and with every ounce of strength she had left, she freed her arm and swung her pan blindly again. _PANG!_ She felt Romania's grip loosen. His hands flew to his head to stop an internal tremor, quite deafening that only he could hear pounding in his skull.

" _Serios, Ungaria?!_ " cried the Romanian.

Hungary pointed the pan at him, ready for another attack, but instead, he dropped to the ground in defeat, brushing the back of his head as it earned a bruise.

"Get up!" growled Hungary, not knowing why she was trembling. "I'm taking some of your things to head WEST! I need to find Austria and the others!" Feeling her throat itch again, with her other hand she put on the mask around her neck.

Romania sat up but did not answer. He avoided her burning glare.

"I said get up!" she commanded, slightly muffled by the mask.

Finally the Nation met her eyes. "Really, Hungary? You seriously expect to prance across a dead land and find dearly beloved, Mister Austria, who you think is still alive?" A grin twisted across his face.

"Shut. Up." Hungary snarled, resisting the urge to break his skull.

The Romanian was unyielding. "Do you seriously think that you are able to walk across your god forsaken country with nothing but a frying pan and a crate of my stuff?"

"You – you underestimate me. Shut up!"

This time Romania stood up, fearless of another pan swing, he fixed his eyes on hers and held her gaze. "You just got out of a grave site of your people. You foolishly thought that you could outwit someone who has traveled this _glorious_ utopia a few times. You have no idea how long you have been in that lovely, wormy pit. And you have absolutely no clue how much your people just love to eat each other in the middle of the night! Oh, and do you know what day it is? Hm?"

Hungary paled. She hated to admit he had a point. She just got out of the mess with nothing but a needle and she just climbed out of a nightmare! It was her impulsive behaviour to blame, right?

Romania held the pan pointed at him, both hands gentle, his anger faded. "Magyar, I believe this is mine." He slowly pried the frying pan from her before she blinked back emotion.

Hungary was not going to let the other Nation detect her misery. In her mind, she refueled her inner hatred for the Romanian by mentally coming up with nasty, loathing insults that would have made Prussia proud and Austria dismayed.

Romania simply picked up his sled and moved on. "I'm heading southeast," he said. "If you want to live I suggest you follow and eat my dust." And with that, the Nation started onward to his direction.

Lingering behind, Hungary turned to the crater once more. When Romania was far from ear-shot, she bent down to pick up soil and watched them fall between her fingers.

"Sleep in peace, dear children," she whispered to the dead. "Embrace His kingdom…"

Sadly she had no gravestone to formally honour them. _All I have is hope_ , she told herself tearfully _._ "I will return and our country will live again, my brothers and sisters..."

Muttering in her native tongue, Hungary whispered a final prayer to them, before running after Romania disappearing in the horizon.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Copilule, îţi mai spun o dată (Romanian for: Child, I have already told you)
> 
> "Nu te teme de zmei," (Romanian for: Don't be afraid of the dragons in the forest) A line from a popular Romanian Lullaby "Culcă-te, puiuţ micuţ" which means "Go to Sleep my baby"
> 
> Istenem! (Hungarian for: My God!)
> 
> Serios, Ungari?! (Romanian for: Seriously, Hungary?)


	2. Touché

_"If you will it, it is no dream." - Theodor Herzl (Hungarian Zionist Leader, 1860-1904)_

* * *

 

Romania trundled along the barren wasteland, his sled leaving fresh tracks on the soft grey dirt. The wind whispered a quiet breath as the ash scattered with every footstep. Pausing for a moment, he fixed the small dark hat attached on his head and adjusted the filtration mask around his mouth and face. He did not bother putting on his hood because at the moment, he was not concerned for his identity – being followed by 'the-one-and-only', there was no point in looking anonymous.

A light fog descended low to his legs, slightly covering his path. The broken paved road was rugged and the young man had to manoeuvre his sled over every bulging bump, gap and sinking hole. After the cataclysmic events months ago, the roads became dry, smoky and brittle. There were rocky areas and heated spots - and in some regions, ash was a blessed carpet over the dangerous terrain.

The Nation was used to this. Pulling his sled of goods for long hours in hell was just another strength exercise testing his stamina and sanity. Throughout the gruelling hours of his travels what kept him going were images of the families waiting for him in his beloved caves.

In his mind he counted the times he traveled around Transylvania, trading for new supplies at nearby trade posts like the one near Timisoara. It had probably been four times including today. He had encountered no one of his kind until now, mainly because he’d ventured in his territory for the most part, and this was a first round trip near the Danube.

The most fascinating route Romania took was the way to a trading post, miles south of Budapest where he had just been before he encountered the disturbing crater of bodies, and of course, Hungary. It was strange to find that ditch of bodies and...

The Nation felt the Hungarian's heavy footprints closing in from behind, and all the respect and well-mannered side of both Nations were once again buried among the rubble of the dead.

"What ho?" Romania said in a sarcastic manner. " _Le gasp!_ A frail old lady comes up from behind me! Someone help!" _Of all Nations_ , he thought.

He did not need to turn around to see how exasperated she was. He could clearly tell by her noises – the impulsive angry grunting and coughing– that she felt forced to tag along. Also he made sure the frying pan she stole was nowhere in sight for an easy grab.

"So, you've decided to stalk me?" he asked.

"So jerk, you've decided to care about me?" she snapped mockingly.

He expected the impolite retaliation. Still, annoying her was quite entertaining. _She'll erupt into a volcanic Magyar sooner or later,_ he mused. "I forgot you like playing Rude."

"I want to play Live-and-I-kick-your-ass."

"Game on!" Romania pulled his sled faster, making her lag behind. "Sounds like a fun game. Does it come with bonus points? I mean, I had head start…literally."

Hungary caught up behind him, adjusting her breathing through the mask filters. "Did I mention that I kick your ass?" she repeated out of breath.

"Yes. Yes you did," said Romania, plainly amused at how much she was struggling. Her mask was put on improperly and she was having a hard time speed walking to his pace. He wondered how on earth she’d even lived this long buried alive in a ditch of mangled limbs.

"You don't stand a chance against me!" Hungary coughed, lifting her mask to spit.

The Romanian reached a straight path of his route and started walking backwards, facing her with a sly grin.

"Says the one who dug herself out of the dead _looking_ half dead," he jested. _Like a walking corpse,_ Romania added to himself with a twitch.

Before he could feel any pity for the other Nation, he quickly turned back around, dragging his sled faster, like it only weighed pillows. It had a heavy load of respiratory masks, jugs of _ţuică,_ canned goods, fabrics, kitchen supplies, and the weight of the wood structuring the crates. It was already tough pulling it with no wheels attached. Instead of a cart or a wagon, he wondered why he chose such a sled in the first place. Oh yeah, because he wanted to play 'Santa Clause' for the kids.

"You know, I can walk this route with no map, Miss Magyar-Muscular-Maid," he chimed over his shoulder, "and I can walk it in a couple of hours! I have traveled up to your sunken Budapest on dangerously _hardcore_ terrain, and I've endured the darkest smite of Black Magic that plagued this place! Check out my sweet ride of stuff!" Romania glanced over his shoulder, showing off his sharp tooth in a smile. "What’ve _you_ got?"

Hungary did not give an answer, nor did she look up at him. She kept her eyes on the dirt of the road. Romania marched on, suddenly conscious of what he’d just said. He may have gone too far with his fun. After all, she did leave her country behind to follow him.

* * *

"Lili, watch out!"

Demons of hopelessness tainted the world after the rapture. The Alpine Mountains, once a powerful and dignified landmark, turned into a prison cell red at its peak and sharpened to bloody daggers.

Nature controlled the world and the world controlled _it_. Humans had their way with both Earth and Nature. But unlike the Earth - which people could dastardly walk upon sometimes - Nature could fight humans, externally and internally; shape shifting into ghastly creatures from cloudy storms and rain, to emotions like fear and panic. In short, Nature was just as unpredictable as the humans; its will unknown and deadly.

In the case of the two young Alpine Nations running down a steep slope of a massacre, Nature was damned despair which corrupted the souls of their men. Genocide clawed their once peaceful mountains and they were trying to escape it.

"Vash!" cried a young girl in a ragged green uniform. She ducked under a dead body to avoid the numerous shots firing her way.

"Don't, Lili!" A green-eyed Swiss Nation haggardly crouched beside her, keeping his head low. "Lili, get down! We'll pass them soon," Switzerland told her, checking her face for any worrying injuries. His adopted little sister held his hand tightly, listening to every word of his command. "Just keep to my left and when I tell you to run, run with me as fast as you can okay, Liechtenstein?"

"I'm scared, Vash," she sobbed. The screams and painful cries sounded like wolves howling in the air.

"Me too," replied the Alpine, wiping away the blood running down his mouth. "Me too…"

Gun shots fired several times with every note of his heartbeat. Switzerland did not expect the rebels to behave like this. He could hardly believe how low his people had fallen. How maddened they had become after decades of relative peace. But that was the past now and a footnote in history.

Irrepressible soldiers were killing civilians who were trying to escape their anarchic wrath. The mountains became a solid wall caging them, holding them within its middle like clawed fingers around a palm. Climbing over them was now impossible and the borderline bloodied.

Liechtenstein and Switzerland were among the fray. At first, they followed the crowd of refugees hiking the mountains to escape to Austria - but when the assembled army approached from Zϋrich the safest route was no longer to follow the crowd. Instead they would run downhill, avoid the mountains and head north to Germany, passing the enemy and taking advantage of their unguarded northern perimeters. That was the plan.

Shots continued to fire as the mass of desperate families tried to escape the angry men. The smell of blood, steel and smoke overpowered their senses. Some of the men started to detain wounded prisoners and Switzerland could only hide from the pain and slaughter. The cries of painful suffering wrung his heart, as he led his sister safely behind large outcropping of rock and debris.

"Lili, you don't know how damned I feel just sitting here and watching!"

"Brother, please!" Liechtenstein begged him to stay put as he was readying his rifle.

She was right, he figured. It was safe to stay low and passive than to launch an attack. It would endanger both of their lives especially his sister's.

He watched in agony as the horrific scene turned bloodier by the minute. Soldiers were shooting down friends, brothers, sisters and children.

Extermination.

_How can this be?_

Burying himself lower to the dirt, his heart grieved and the helplessness maddened him.

_What went so terribly wrong?_

He cannot protect them with only a couple of rifles. Besides Liechtenstein, no one was on his side, and those who wanted to flee were immediately killed. It was unbearable to be in the midst of this bloodshed, yet there he was, watching.

Dismay tore his heart.

His own people could be so cruel.

He had been in similar situations before, but this was far worse. Back then in those times there were other Nations around and it felt a lot less lonely.

With that thought, he suddenly wished for another Nation to help him. Never would he ask for their aid before and now there he was, asking…pleading to the overcast skies.

He remembered the revolts his neighbours had gone through and the help he provided them. He could count the times he assisted many Nations in their battles with his Swiss Army and the Red Cross, and it slightly pained Switzerland to be reminded of the Axis and Allies.

Although he’d been disinterested of them in the past, he never minded the assistance he provided when it also concerned him a little. Now that his own country was in a state of total discontent he would greatly appreciate any outside help. If there was still _any_ order out there. Alas, there had been no reports from the outside.

Most of the communication lines were either destroyed or had gradually stopped working, so there was barely any way to keep contact with the outside. It was dangerous to send people out on reconnaissance missions – the majority of them never returned. Assuming the worst, Switzerland had no choice but to keep everyone in, and as it turned out, this was one of the reasons that made his people turn against him.

"Quick!" Switzerland had Liechtenstein crawling under another fallen body as a portion of the army separated to hunt.

Cautiously, they ducked behind a slope and waited for the men to pass. "Keep well behind me, Lili." He tucked his sister behind him while his other hand expertly held a rifle.

Both waited for the opportune moment to escape.

Switzerland had always been a peaceful, orderly and neutral Nation, but this massacre turned to the devil's hand and beyond his control, surpassing precedent tribulations. For once, he lost control and he had no idea what to do but protect Liechtenstein and himself.

It was all caused by the earlier months of a tensed Nation. The country survived the earth's grim ordeal but their glorious survival was short lived.

The stern Nation kept everyone within his country's borders to protect them from the outside; little did he know uprisings ignited. One by one, people started to despair and beg for freedom from the mountains, and soon after more and more agreed to the outburst. The state grew agitated as fear devoured their sanity and they started questioning their liberties and rights encased in Switzerland's circle of mountains.

People wanted to go outside and look for any other survivors, but Switzerland held them back for fear of unstable ground past the Alps. His concerns were true and almost unbelievable considering what the Calamity had left behind.

There was a large dividing trench stretching from the Alps to south of Austria and it broke the majority of the European railroad systems. Rivers and large bodies of water had formed along the southern parts of his country, making it difficult to travel to France, Italy or Austria. There were newly-made mountains surrounding the Nation from the recent quake and most of their land had elevated way too high, forming cliffs on the other side and causing altitude sicknesses in some places.

It was like Nature had finally given a terrible prize to the country for its centuries of neutrality.

Literal Isolation.

Food shortages, electrical bursts, floods and a drained water supply triggered a series of panic throughout the country. For a total of ten weeks, tensions escalated to suffocation until Switzerland finally stood above a podium to speak to his people about reformations. Sadly, his claim for change was instantly misunderstood. He did not anticipate what happened next.

On the day after he spoke, his people spited him and revolted. Rioting and threatening, they demanded for new leaders and after a couple of disastrous days they got what they’d wished for. An assembled group took over and condemned those against their actions. A bloody chain of events followed and the country started killing itself. In a span of a few desperate months people maddened and order disintegrated. People turned against each other, authority corrupted and turned violent, criminals ruled, families were made victims and children were hunted. Those who fled hiked over the mountains, viciously climbing over them only to fall to the other side.

Switzerland felt the turmoil in him and he held on to Liechtenstein as they crouched low to the sloping ground, careful not to be spotted.

"Are you ready to run, Lili?"

Liechtenstein blinked. Her face was caked with mud and her eyes were red from tears.

"Vash…Mr. Switzerland…do you really mean to run away from here?"

The brotherly Nation felt his heart rip open when he said the words he never thought he would ever say. "Lili, I can’t handle this anymore…” he choked back his own tears. “We have to leave this place. I can’t – I can't explain right now, but it's just that…they will kill us if we stay here." He took in a long deep breath before looking straight ahead. "Let's go."

Gun fires had finally ended, victims were thieved to empty hollow souls, and half-dead prisoners were tied up from it all. One of the commanding soldiers ordered a thorough search for any survivors hiding in the midst, but by that time Switzerland and Liechtenstein had already disappeared.

* * *

 

For a short while traveling together, Romania and Hungary did not say anything. At almost at every kilometer there was a foul scent in the air that led them to discover a corpse, either sprawled on the ground or stuffed in a melted car. They wove past a deserted village a little carelessly. Romania constantly reminded Hungary to make as little noise as possible, but she was too stubborn to comply, he had to take detours around any suspicious spots that could be hiding an ambush.

Eventually, to his relief they safely reached another line of trees. Recognizing a landmark, Romania curved his way around a large overlaying road.

"Please tell me where we are!" Hungary groaned behind him. After two hours of silence, she finally spoke and for once it was a polite question, yet he ignored her anyway.

It was nearing dark and they’d traveled for two and a half hours already without stopping. That excludes Hungary's occasional whiny drinking breaks and coughing fits. At least they were at a steady pace, a little slower than he would’ve liked but they had covered plenty of ground from Szeged.

In her current condition, Hungary should’ve passed out a while ago and it surprised him that she made it this far. She was probably healthier that he thought. For him, it had been more than two hours travel; a total of six hours apart from finding Hungary that afternoon.

He would normally walk a maximum of seven hours a day to cover some ground, and - if he was lucky - encounter a working vehicle to use until it runs out of fuel. Romania planned to camp somewhere soon before his legs buckle to exhaustion, like the last time he pushed himself too far.

He wished he could be back to the caves in a time of eight days, but it had been almost two weeks of travel from the nearest town. The last time he sent word to the caves was three days ago. Well, at least he had sent word for his delay and his new course. Hopefully it reached them.

"Under the current circumstances, I will try not to kill you," Hungary suddenly blurted out of pure boredom.

Great. She's going on again. Romania rolled his eyes. Well, he didn't really answer her a moment ago…

"Ah, true," he sighed. "We are set in this dead wasteland being followed by cannibals, finding dead things here and there and smelling ash-carcass-delights at every corner! Of course! You're right. Under the current circumstances we will try not to kill each other...as much as either of us would really, really, REALLY love to."

At this, Hungary bitterly responded, "I don't have to like you to trust you! Besides, I had no better choice! And what do you mean canni –?"

"Oh, poor, poor Magyar." Romania interrupted with tilted smile. "I'm sure the choice to live is a good choice. Even though you're stuck with someone you hate. Living is still a goody!"

Hungary's eyes narrowed to slits.

"Well, I'd be happy to leave you alone," Romania offered. "So long as you are selfish and careless, I'll let you be on your way."

"What makes you think I'll be stupid enough to –"

"Fending for yourself, in your case, is certainly selfish and careless," he pointed out. "I mean, really, have you _seen_ yourself lately? You camouflaged among the dead back there. No wonder a creeper hasn't dug you up. You smell like mouldy food. Worse than the corpses." Romania covered his nose to ridicule and Hungary exploded with fury.

"GO TO HELL, ROMÁNIA!"

"After you!" he laughed, not expecting the Hungarian Nation to punch him in the gut.

She gave him a good knuckle to the stomach and he clutched it laughing. Hungary turned away growling, resisting the urge to punch him to fatality. Of course, she couldn’t beat him to death as much as she really wanted to. Not now anyway.

Romania not only knew his way around this 'utopia', he had many tricks up his sleeve. _Ha, ha! Oh man, do I have to tell her about the boats too?_ He sighed, straightening up from the ache in his stomach. He started to recall the locations where his hidden boats may be – to keep himself distracted from her bear-like wrath.

Yes, he still remembered where he placed them…hopefully his men continued checking up on them. Besides his people, and his other speedy method of transport, his boats were one of the most precious things at stake for him. He planned to send another message back to Cluj-Napoca, because the longer it takes being away from the caves, the more dangerous it becomes.

All because he changed direction suddenly…all because he thought he would find other Nations. Well he did, but he was so sure it was Bulgaria he’d sensed near, not Hungary. No matter. He would keep searching. Every day he sensed another Nation's presence in his country and recently, the feeling doubled, it was not just Hungary this time. There was another Nation miles away and he would find him even if it means revealing every secret information to the Magyar…

"Welcome to the bordering land of my country and yours," Romania announced when they reached the edge of a cliff – which was surprisingly not so much of a cliff at all.

It was a road crookedly broken in half, like a gash on skin. It formed a deep trench opening down to water below. They could see the muddy river and it was a steep and dangerous descent. It was not one of their European rivers; the trench gathered water – most likely from the rain or the Danube — and formed a new contaminated stream.

Hungary peered over to see how far the trench went and she shook. "Earthquake?"

"Yeah," he answered, "well, what else do you think happened? A butter knife cutting the road?" Avoiding her glare, Romania pulled his sled to the trees a distance away. He unloaded heavy crates and nested ropes.

She approached him. "What are you doing?"

"What does it look like I'm doing?"

Hungary grew frustrated and decided to say nothing much further. Romania securely tied the rope around the sled and looped the other end over a branch of a solidified, blackened tree. As exhausted as he was, he still managed to hoist the sled up to hover above him. Satisfied with its safe height, he did the same for the crates on a separate tree. Of course, Hungary just idled by watching him.

He tiredly leaned against the trunk below his hanging crates and gave her a sideways glance. Then without a word, he hoisted himself up the tree abandoning her on the ground. Night began to fall and there was no sense to stay on the ground anymore.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Reference to Glassamilk's Gutters:
> 
> "Switzerland has fallen into chaos and that the small surviving society there has completely dissolved into violence and human butchery, people stalking each other for resources and food, regardless of where it comes from, and have begun a slow spread into Austria and southern Germany."


	3. Remember, Remember

Romania was not going to help her up a tree. No harness offered to her, Hungary stood at the trunk, hands on hips, giving him a calculated look. _No._ Hungary shook her head, biting her lower lip. _I will not think of such gruesome ways to kill that ţuică-magic-man. I want answers._

The forest was blackened with soot and the majority of the trees were too tall to climb. It was almost by pure luck that they found a couple of trees in good shape with thick branches to climb on, high enough to hide from intruders. The tree where Romania settled had a broken branch to another tree which served like a bridge to his crates.

 _Lucky bastard._ Nature had somehow spared a few forests around the region and it waved to the Romanian's convenience much to Hungary's dismay. _Don't tell me that "Mother Nature" is on his side,_ she grumbled. Her throat welled up again and she was forced to cough out more disgusting liquid. When she looked up, Hungary immensely detested the thought of settling anywhere near his roost for the night.

She walked over to another tree a little away from his. This one nested his heavy crates. She hated to admit that he did a fine job hanging them and she wondered how many times Romania had done this before.

Hungary tested the trunk and staggered up to climb.

"I don't want you touchin' that!" Romania protested from his sturdy branch. They tend to ignore each other's comments a lot, so she might as well continue doing so.

Climbing trees was one of her past times in the early years with the Teutonic Knights; she remembered competing against Prussia with this sort of thing. _Feels good to climb again with the memory of that annoying-dummkopf-of-a-friend_ , the Hungarian smiled weakly.

Romania comfortably settled on his branch, feigning to the ignorance. By the looks of the harness tied around his waist and the sleeping blankets hung on his perch, Hungary could tell that Romania had really slept on rough places before – he was prepared and he was going to have a better sleep! Hungary grumpily continued her climb. _Seriously, how many times has_ _he_ _done this already?_

"Y'know, you won't find my frying pan there," Romania exclaimed, leaning leisurely on his perch, hands laced behind his head. "If you cut off the netted rope around those crates, the food supply would fall and be the main attraction tonight. Also don't even think about weighing the branches down, I mean, they're already burnt after all. Oh, and your—"

"I don't care!" Hungary coughed in her mask. She mounted to what seemed like a decent branch until it snapped. **_Kkrurk!_** She crashed to the ground before she could even catch a glimpse of the fracture.

Hungary took off her mask and spat out glowing fluid. Letting the mask dangle around her neck, she recovered herself and brushed off dust and soot from her pants. Humiliating.

She waited for a snide remark from the Nation above her, but he was unexpectedly quiet. Hungary cleared her throat and Romania quickly shushed her. She looked up his tree and found him peering into the distance in high alert.

Something was moving their way…and…it sounded like a pack…of wolves? No. Bears? Couldn't be. Animals had died off during the flashes. Unless they – ? No. Not possible. She was just hearing things.

Hungary glanced at the horizon and the sun had disappeared from the gradient nightfall. Her heart started to race. This was her first night outside of her ditch. _Outside_. She did not remember the nights before. Were there nights before…? Where was she then? Something was moving their way. What the –?

A snake slithered along her back, making her jump. She gasped when something caught her arm. A gloved hand covered her mouth to stop her from screaming. She turned to see Romania gesturing her to be quiet, his other hand held a hanging rope that led to his branch – she had mistaken it for a snake, damnit!

Hungary shoved his hand away, harshly whispering, "I'm not going to your silly tree! There are plenty of branches that I can –"

" _Nu este timp_!" he rushed.

She noticed he had his mask off and she was looking straight at his two anxious burgundy eyes. Hungary took the opportunity to smack him hard until his head turned to the side.

"I want my frying pan," Hungary hissed in a demanding tone.

Romania winced at the pain in his cheek. Quickly composing himself, he faced her. "First of all, _ouch?_ Second of all: are you seriously doing this NOW? And thirdly – and more importantly –" he furiously motioned at the tree then at the distant beating somewhere down the broken road – "Branch or Corpse-Eating-Hairy-Men?! Take your pick!"

_What!?_

Hungary put aside her questions and complied. The incoming rumbles drew nearer. She hastily climbed to Romania's perch and left dusty footprints on his folded sleeping blanket by accident. _Um, consider it another small act of kindness,_ she thought sarcastically.

Romania mounted up beside her, harness still tied around his waist. He glanced at her mess and scowled, grumbling about her gratitude.

Satisfied, Hungary pulled the climbing rope up so no one from below could reach them. She checked on the crates and the sled which hung on the separate trees nearby. They were high enough to be out of reach but the trees could still be climbed if someone was that desperate to reach them.

They waited for the sound to draw nearer. Romania unsheathed two loaded pistols out of nowhere, and Hungary was certain he was glimmering with delight.

The noise drew closer until it finally stopped at a distance where they could clearly see the source. Hungary could see dark shapes crouching, looking bent from the run. The figures were huddled close and something about them seemed…inhuman. They were armed with what looked like spears and heavy mallets and axes. Hungary wanted to see them clearer to know what they truly look like under some bright light, but a flame or flashlight would jeopardize their cover.

The figures shuffled aside, allowing one of them stepped forward. Hungary could see that this one in particular was their superior – given way by his bulky, chiefly shape. The Chief smelled the air in silence and spoke a few words to his tribe. His words were muffled from the distance, and suddenly, she felt her heart seize when the murmuring man pointed his spear straight in their direction.

In unison, the group started chanting something strange. It sounded like they were reciting the man's orders. Hungary could barely comprehend what they were saying.

Turning to their tree, the group bolted towards them. Their Chief led the way, his spear flashing white as bone. In seconds, they were so close now, running up to their tree like Neanderthals in tattered rags, carrying primitive weapons. Their eyes were hollow and sunken with starvation, their muddied faces and gaping mouths displayed the very hunger in their souls. Romania loaded his pistols and aimed. Hungary braced for the erratic booms of the flying bullets, and yet as Romania fired, the bullets made very little noise.

"Have a taste of my _Dracula md. 98s_ ," whispered Romania, gleefully shooting a bullet at one who was reaching for their trunk. Before they could even touch their tree, he shot one after another, muttering "Take that…And that..."

The group did not even try to dodge his bullets. They were hurling their crude spears at them like rabid animals. She saw one fly to Romania who dodged it in a millisecond.

He laughed. "Did you know these pistols have upgraded sound suppressors? Ah, my beloved _Pistolul model 1998…_ So old, yet still – " _Pew!_ – "ha, ha! Handy." _Pew!_ _Pew!_ "See, a friend of mine – a totally cool guy – from the Romanian Intelligence Service – you know the guys who take down terrorists at my place? In short form they're called the R.I.S. Yeah, he got this for me and –"

"You will R-I-P if you don't finish them off!" snapped Hungary, a small, well-aimed rock hit her on the temple the moment she yelled at him. Romania grinned as she fingered the growing bump on her head.

As much as she wanted to snatch one of Romania's so-called Dracula pistols – and shoot Romania and the mongrels herself – she refrained from doing so and focused on dodging anymore pathetic spears and rocks. She just had had enough humiliations tonight.

Hungary curved away from another spear, almost nudging Romania to miss a target. _How is_ he _not getting hit at all?_ She wondered.

Romania was calmly shooting and effortlessly tilting away from every boney weapon thrown at him.

 _That jerk!_ Hungary crossed her arms and ranted in her mind, resisting the urge to push him off the tree. He’d most likely encountered these primitives before and had done this same routine.

At last, one by one, the ground bloodied until the Chief of the tribe was the only one left standing – Romania had probably left him aside on purpose to die last.

The two Nations waited for the gruff man to do something. He blinked up at their tree then down at his fallen comrades. Not a moment later, he staggered to the nearest body and started – _disgusting._ Hungary felt her stomach lurch at the sickening sight. She held on to the tree trunk beside her as a wave of nausea rent her body.

The man's bony fingers scratched and scratched at the corpse's face. Bits of bloody flesh were torn, but it was not enough for him to chew. He used his spear to mutilate its throat to feast on the soft tissues. The man nipped hungrily at every morsel covered in bloody gravy.

As the Chief ripped open the corpse's jugular, Hungary impatiently urged Romania to shoot him dead before the sight becomes too gory to deal with, but the Romanian was putting away both of his guns.

"What are you doing?!" she whispered angrily at the Nation. "What are you waiting for?! I don't want to see this!"

"One second," Romania calmly replied. He fished out a gold studded dagger from one of his inner coat pockets. "Let him have a light snack before he – you know – gets killed and all… And I didn't know you'd get all excited for this."

What did he mean by 'excited'? Hungary's attention turned to the dagger that he held expertly by the blade. _Crap, he has a dagger too?_ She envied. "How did you –? Where did you get that? _"_

Romania gleamed. "I stole it." He focused his eyes at the man eating below them.

Hungary scowled.

"The guy was dead, so he had no say on the matter!" laughed Romania, angling the dagger hilt to its target. "I found it somewhere south of Bistrita and I think this may have been from one of Moldova's men. But that's a long story. I'm sure you're not interested." In a blink, he threw it.

The blade flashed, cutting through the air and striking the cranium of the Chief. The man looked up at them and mumbled his final words. Repentance.

Hungary was struck deeply inside when she heard him very clearly, as if he said it so close to her ears.

His repentance.

She understood his language completely. Hungary placed a shaky hand to her head, hiding her face in shame. She felt like she was the one who was pierced by the blade.

Romania wore no expression. He had known all along and he tried to tell her earlier; she did not want to believe it.

The man he killed...was a Magyar.

* * *

Switzerland found nothing in his radios that gave him any signs of life outside his borders. There were no spikes. No sudden influx of interference. The occasional malfunctions of the radio frustrated him, making him think someone was out there. He considered the fact that maybe there were no other radios working outside.

He grunted at the device. It was too valuable to break as it was one of the last surviving electronics he had. He had been carrying it with a supply of batteries everyday after scouring his old office and it was one of the most precious things he kept secret. He just needed something. Something to remind him that there _had_ been better times than this.

"Is there something wrong?" Liechtenstein asked quietly. She clamped her suitcase shut and carried it by her side. She was breathing very hard and her words were mere mumbles.

 _She looks so frail,_ Switzerland thought before dismissing the idea. _She's not ill._ _It's just very dark in this bunker..._ Besides, he made sure they feasted on healthy rations.

"Nothing's wrong," uttered the Swiss, before putting away the radio and rechecking their supplies. Looking around the dingy, cramped shelter one last time he led his sister to the exit. "We've got everything, right?"

"Yes," she ghostly replied, blinking her large, hollow eyes at him.

"Map?"

"Yes, Vash."

"Okay." He hesitated for a moment longer before slinging his rifle in front of him and ascending the ladder.

Switzerland peered over the entrance, his eyes squinting from the rays of late morning light. Once outside, he strolled around the surface to see if they were alone. When he gave an all clear, Liechtenstein climbed up after him.

It was their last stop in his country now that they were nearing the German border. Four days passed since the genocide, and fortunately they had made it this far north without encountering anyone dangerously armed. Whoever looked threatening to them along the way, Switzerland killed with no mercy, and anyone else who looked harmless was either knocked unconscious or left alone.

He helped his sister to her feet when she emerged from the opening, her suitcase held tightly around one arm. "You shouldn't climb a ladder with one arm," he said to her. "You might slip."

She softly giggled. "You climbed it while holding your rifle, dear _bruder._ "

"Yeah, well…” Switzerland cleared his throat. “Just don't do that again. You should be more careful." He turned and strode northward – a smiling Liechtenstein by his side, like a trailing shadow.

He kept reminding himself that he was abandoning the safe bunker to protect her, and that he was leaving his own country of chaos so she could live…

He had to.

 _They_ had to.

They had to find someone to help them, if there was still anybody out there…

* * *

 

"Too bad, so sad. I had to do it!" Romania exclaimed. He picked out his dagger from the dead man and sprayed enough potent chemicals all over the corpses to conceal the scent of blood. He quickly pulled them aside and drenched the rest of the area with the chemicals.

The chemicals were a mix of distilled liquids, solutions like phenol and formalin, and – weirdly enough – soap. Sweet smelling soap was somehow unattractive to those who seek rotting flesh. Who would eat soap, anyway?

Romania looked over his crafty work and puffed with content. _To avoid any more of these ruffians tonight, I'll spray some of this on the Magyar_ , he pondered. _She will like this pungent fragrant. Ha, ha! They do say the bitter, the better._

"They were hungry, you idiot!" The Hungarian argued from above, still perched on his tree branch. "You had proper food, why did you not feed them or something?"

"That's like feeding seabirds!" Romania growled. "They'll come back for more until you run out!" Using his harness, he mounted up his tree to grudgingly rejoin her.

"I see you haven't changed your ways," she said.

Annoyed, Romania did not like where this was going, so he tried changing the subject. "I hope you have any brains at all to know that you should keep quiet. There won't be any more of them coming this way tonight, but just keep your voice down as a precaution." Romania squirted the potent chemical in front of her and she winced.

"You had food!" The Hungarian Nation hissed, waving off the bitter spray. "Why did you not provide for them – ? Wait – did you ran out of supplies? You have these stupid crates – "

"Magyar –"

"Were you too slow to keep up food production or something? You could have looked to Russia! Or Austria – or – "

"Mag– "

"Look at you! You're healthier than me! Your people must’ve survived so well, why didn't you see _this_ coming? I was buried in a ditch! You could’ve at least left something for _my_ people! Your neighbours! You've got guns and daggers and I didn't know that the cannibalism could get this bad –"

"Hungary!"

"I’M NOT FINISHED!" she yelled, teeth baring. Perplexed, Romania almost fumbled backwards. She went silent.

They both turned away, somehow frightened by one another. It was not surprising that Hungary was furious with _him_ in particular – blaming him and all. She was usually irritating around him but never this unpredictable and desperate. He feared her, and by the looks of it, she feared him too.

She was going to discover the cannibals sooner or later and Romania had dropped palpable hints when he first encountered her. He even mentioned it to her! He realized that she had not really asked him – _pestered_ him – about it until now.

They had found enough carcasses in her country to make solid conclusions. Romania supposed she’d been purposely ignoring what was really there. _She’s been denying it all along,_ he chuffed.

Romania settled in his sleeping bag before he safely hid away his dagger.

"You couldn't deal with it until the bloody truth died in front of you," he told her transparently, like he was talking to a child. He folded his legs to avoid booting the Hungarian before him – not that he really cared. He prodded the Nation with his dirty boots. "Hey, it's getting late and I just want to have my beauty sleep..."

Expecting a biting retort from her, he was surprised she remained silent. Hungary seemed vacant, staring out into the dark. Her mask was off and he could clearly see pain, hunger and exhaustion engraved on her hollow face.

Romania wrapped his arms around his folded knees. "Can you shift forward a little? I want to stretch my _healthy_ legs."

Finally she snapped. "What? You left Dracula's coffin somewhere? Why are you not sleeping on _that_?" Their branch slightly drooped as Hungary wobbled up to stand. She nimbly inched her way to another solid trunk bridging from his.

 _Back to this lovely mood again_ , he thought bitterly. He watched her crawl across the thick branch to the other tree.

"Fly away little temperamental Magyar," Romania contested. He cleaned his bloodied dagger with a rag and shoved it back in his coat. "Remember, I can easily clip your fragile chicken wings."

Hungary shot him a poisonous glare and roosted on her chosen branch a few feet across him.

Narrowing her eyes, she faced him with her arms crossed. "You childish asshat, what else is there besides the Hungarian cannibals? You haven't told me everything I need to know!"

"You ungrateful brat,” he glowered. “Do you need sleeping pills or something?"

"Idiot," she barked.

"Whiny!"

"Gypsy…"

His eye twitched. "Don't you dare go there, Magyar."

"Devil!"

"I'm warning you..." Romania agonizingly resisted the urge to throw his blade at her.

Hungary twisted a corner of her mouth. " _Vlaaaad_."

Aggravated, Romania tightened his fists and exhaled. "I don't need you alive, you little witch! I will wring your neck in the morning."

"Oh _Romani_ ," Hungary sneered with every bit of venom her words. " _Bite me._ "

 _She's gone too far!_ Romania deliberated. Why was he still keeping her around? He no longer cared! He never had! Well, maybe he did, but not anymore!

_Who am I kidding?_

He took out one of his pistols. Right now, she was powerless and he could easily shoot her down the tree.

_That's it, that's right!_

He readied the gun and aimed it straight at her. Hungary didn’t even flinch, she simply waited for him. They looked dead straight at each other's eyes, waiting for one or the other to make a move.

 _Good bye, whiny little brat_.

His hand did not shake from the trigger and all he needed was the final move with one finger.

_Oh, come on, I'm hesitating?! She's gonna think I'm weak! When she's dead I won't need to reveal anything to her! I'll find Bulgaria myself and much sooner! Do I still need her?! Duh. She insulted me in the past and she will insult me forever. It's annoying. I remember what happened long ago! I remember, remember!_

Hungary blinked – his gun did not waiver.

 _She took so many things away from me. But then again, how am_ I _any_ different _? And if she's dead, there goes a surviving Nation I've found who may be able to help, and she maybe one of the only ones left. Argh, cabbage rolls._

Romania gradually cleared his mind and withdrew; his blazing eyes still piercing hers.

_Insults are not strong enough to make me kill her like this – even if we had this cursed grudge for years. Now is not the time to end each other's lives so quickly…_

If her death was because of an idiotic insult, then where was the honour of killing her in that? It would be very imbecilic on his part. He needed a better cause to 'kick-her-ass' in this kind of game.

 _Stupid conscience,_ he thought angrily, putting away the pistol and his mouth crooked from the silent defeat.

Surprisingly, Hungary remained impassive. Either she did not fear death or she knew that he was not going to shoot her after all. She was damn strong.

 _I hate this Magyar_ , he fumed.

"I see," sighed the Hungarian. Romania was not sure if she sighed out of relief or disappointment. She stretched out her arms and yawned. "Describe yourself as either weak or just plain idiotic. I will say both but I'll let you pick."

They still waited for one or the other to make a sudden move. The pure loathing was so obvious; anyone from a distance could see it by their tensed body language. If they go on like this, none of them would be able to sleep! Staying up so late would make them both hungry and exhausted to move on the next day.

"You are either happy or upset from the fact I didn't kill you just now," Romania snorted.

Hungary raised a brow. "Ah, so you agree to be both weak and idiotic?"

"And you seem happy," he recoiled. "Happy moving on without your cursed German friends."

He hit another boiling point in Hungary. Her vacant expression returned and her smugness disappeared. She gave no reply for a long moment.

"…I demand some answers," she said after a heavy pause. "Tell me everything right now or I will degrade you even further."

Romania was not going to yield so easily. "As much as we want to continue being detrimental towards each other, Magyar, could one of us go to sleep first? I assure you that I might – depending on my mood – provide all the answers tomorrow morning. How 'bout that? Don't worry so much; I'm sure you'll live that long."

Hungary shook her head. "I am not sleeping while you're awake!"

"Whatever." Romania did not want to give in, but he needed rest. "You keep watch then." He broke their glaring contest and tossed to one side, wrapped up cozy in his sleeping bag. "No sense in trying to kill me tonight, I have all the answers you need. I’m way too valuable..."

"Shut up and go to sleep!"

He looked over his shoulder. "You know how a watch goes right? Like, you wake me up when you start dozing off?"

"I said, shut up and go to sleep!"

Romania closed his eyes. It was amusing to annoy the hell out of her. The insults just get way off hand sometimes, but if he was going to let her tag along for a while, he welcomed the entertainment.

He heard Hungary sigh after another coughing fit. He wondered how comfortable she was sleeping against the scorched tree bark without a sleeping bag or blanket. He had a hilarious thought of her covered in soot the next morning.

Romania pretended to sleep for what felt like hours. A long moment passed when the silence was broken by a stifled sob coming from Hungary, and he strained to hear what she had to say.

"I just want to know where he is…" she whispered softly to herself. "How did things come to this? When did my own people turn like this?"

Randomly, Romania wanted to joke in a sleepy murmur. "Shuuut uuuup. I gooo tooo sleep."

Hungary let out an exasperated noise. "Go to sleep or I'll sing you a lullaby!"

 _I choose sleep._ Romania snickered before he dozed off. He did not fancy a particular lullaby and he definitely did not want to hear Hungary sing. _I could barely handle her talking already._

Snoring, Romania wondered what it was like in her perspective. As much as he wanted to make her life a living hell, it had to be maddening to know very little of this so-called wonderland. He enjoyed being the enigmatic and knowledgeable one in the matter, but if he was going to carry on like this it would not bode well for both of them – him, especially if he was going to find any signs of Bulgaria or other Nations. Romania decided he would tell her the truth tomorrow, before things get any worse between them.

He would tell her _everything_ straight forwardly and informatively. Romania had put her in the dark purposely for a couple of reasons; one: to his advantage, and two: to stay alive. He thought it would be easy to keep people oblivious to his agenda; like how he was with his men. But this was Elizaveta; the embodiment of Hungary.

If she knew more than him, she would be dangerous to him. She might kill him the next day and leave with all the information she needed. And if he leaves her clueless, she would probably go mad and 'psycho', badgering him for the truth. He figured a compromise instead.

 _Damn it,_ he shuddered, _this game is getting a bit more complicated._

* * *

 

The long trek uphill was exhausting; Switzerland tired himself out until he could barely take another step. His younger sibling trailed behind carrying a canteen of water and a second rifle. He made sure he carried her suitcase throughout most of the journey. He did not want her burdened with heavy things on top of walking for miles; he also ignored her insistent wishes to volunteer and share the load.

Earlier, they had spent the morning descending from the mountainous terrain of his country, and by noon they reached leveled ground.

The path they had ventured through was one of the paths Switzerland used for his messengers. Although the men he had sent out never returned, a hidden path like this meant a passable escape anyway. The path was undiscovered by the rebels because it was densely hidden.

They found a dying motor boat docked nearby for emergencies. The boat was used months ago for Liechtenstein's arrival and Switzerland relocated it, hiding it in this particular place ever since.

After loading the boat, they silently made way along the unusually expanded Rhine, and by then the motor died. Switzerland paddled the rest of the way; by late afternoon they reached the end of Lake Constance on German soil. Paranoid of spies or followers, Switzerland destroyed the boat and paddle the moment they were on shore. He basically eliminated the last safe path to his beloved homeland.

Tired to the bone, Switzerland found an empty truck for them to camp for tonight. _So far and yet still a long way to go_ , he thought, settling comfortably in the truck with his sister. His eyes glued to the only map they had and with a shaky finger under the dim, light of a candle stub, he traced a route to Berlin. Or maybe they should navigate through to Munich? Or Leipzig, instead? Surely, there had to be someone they might find now that they are out here. The 'outside'.

Switzerland huddled beside his sleeping sister. She coughed for a moment and he worriedly checked her forehead for any signs of fever. She was unexpectedly cold and her raspy lungs heaved for clean air. Switzerland's nose itched and his eyes stung; he quickly rummaged through his bag for emergency supplies.

The outside air was entirely more extreme compared to the air cooped within his country's borders. Out here, there is more ash, he surveyed. _Harsher than I predicted._ It would be hard to find a city inhabited; the locals might either be dead or up further north.

Switzerland wanted to find a better mode of transportation fast, before one of them gets sick from the toxicity of the air.

 _Lili's not used to this_.

Switzerland fished out his black scarf and swim goggles from his pack. He prodded Liechtenstein to put them on and she did not argue. She handled the mask tiredly and slowly shifted her gaze from him to space.

 _She's just drowsy,_  thought the Swiss Nation. Rather than putting on a pair of goggles he just unraveled another scarf and wove it around his nose and mouth. He was more concerned for his sister than his own breathing condition.

Switzerland shifted and gently kept his hand by his rifle. He blew out the candle and watched the smoke diffuse into the air. Finally feeling secured, he fell to a deep slumber.

Morning dawned so fast, his eyes still feel heavy. Switzerland rolled over to check on his sister.

The truck was empty. There was a depression on the seat next to him, telling him that she had disappeared seconds ago. He started for his rifle but it was nowhere to be seen. Frantically he searched for their bags and luggage. He couldn't find them either. Where...?

Immediately, he bolted out of the vehicle. There was no movement around their camp's perimeter. _But Lili could not have gotten so far!_ His mind flashed to the thought of a kidnap and his eyes grew wide in panic.

_Shit. No, no, no. Why did I sleep? Why? Why did I –_

He tripped. Switzerland calmed down for a moment and regained his footing. Thick wheel tracks grooved along where he tripped, the trail pooled with fresh blood. A bloody truck had stolen his sister away.

_No, no, no._

"Brother!" His sister's voice echoed in his mind. Switzerland gasped for air before the ground hit his face.

He opened his eyes and felt his chest pressed against a rifle, his legs were bruised by a sudden fall. He was half-way out the door of the truck, face planted on the dirt. Switzerland rolled over to face the sky. Liechtenstein was peering over the truck's seat.

She gave him a look of concern. "Brother, you fell! I think you had a nightmare!"

Switzerland promptly got up and petted his sister. He sighed with rigid relief.

She's here and safe, thank goodness. He checked their belongings and everything in the truck was unmoved. He looked around the perimeter to see if the bloody tracks were real.

Nothing.

Thank goodness, it was just a dream. Not a vision. Just a dream. _A nightmare._

Returning to his stoic self, they hastily decamped. Liechtenstein did not question the sudden burst of speed, nor did she complain. Switzerland skipped breakfast and gave his portion to her. He wanted to get away from the site as soon and as far away as possible. Maybe it was because of the dream.

At a distance they walked cautiously along the road to Friedrichshafen. The ground was uneven and many parts were split open, some bits of the road overlapped and tilted. They were mostly descending at a downward tilt. Their descent was quicker, but all the more dangerous with rubble greeting them at every step of the way.

They encountered crumbled buildings and deserted homes. Apart from looking like a destroyed battleground, the place was desolate and eerily quiet. Nobody was around and they found no traces of life anywhere.

Switzerland paid little attention to the sorry sites. He was more occupied with Liechtenstein's safety and the road ahead. He made sure that they rested at safe areas and that they paced steadily to keep track of their breathing. He did not like the air so much. In fact, he didn't like where they were at all.

The trek was dangerous but at least he found it safer than back at the Alpine mountains right now. He missed his mountains dearly, he had abandoned many innocent lives to suffer, and with every stride, he tortured himself with blame.

He kept reminding himself everything would go back to the way it was.  _I can't endanger Lili,_ he kept thinking _._ Uncertain of the future, Switzerland dismissed further thoughts of his country and focused on the path ahead.

After three days traversing through city of Friedrichshafen, Switzerland intended to go even further north to Ravensburg. They did not find any civilians yet and whoever they encountered were either dead or decomposing. At one street, the dead sprawled everywhere, enough to make him blindfold his sister and lead her out of the disturbing sight.

For every step they make Switzerland would perk up at the smallest rustle; harmless or not. He did not trust anything or anyone out here.

He kept his rifles in check and he would always have one held tightly. They carried an ample amount of ammunition and their food supply was plentiful. Liechtenstein even carried luxurious items such as a doll, ribbons, small pillows, candles, an extra dress and blouse, unused shoes, pencils and a sketchbook. For him, aside from the weaponry and pocket knives, he carried maps, blankets, medicine, and money – in case of trade; he also carried jewelry and figurines.

The growing problem they had was their water supply. It was rationed mostly to his sister and Switzerland constantly checked on her for any breathing problems. He basically paid little attention to his own needs.

"Um…Vash?" she said one afternoon. "I understand you're worried, but could you please eat and look after yourself too…?"

Switzerland blankly returned her gaze and said, "No."

They were settled by an empty road for a midday lunch and as usual that the Swiss Nation was busy overseeing things. On a melted car, he had his rifle ready, his eyes surveyed the horizon.

"Lili, finish eating. I don't trust this road," he said quickly.

His sister giggled until she coughed. "Dear  _bruder_ , you don't trust any road. We have traveled this far and I am glad that your precautions and alertness have served us well, but –" she timidly held out a cold sandwich to him – "may you stay healthy?"

Switzerland reluctantly received it and told her that he would give the rest of the food to her later. The moment he turned away from his watch, there was something emerging from the horizon. Switzerland almost choked on the sandwich when he aimed his rifle towards the incoming figure.

"Lili, get behind me, now!" He sounded as if the figure had already pounced on them. Liechtenstein dropped what she was doing and climbed up the melted vehicle to join him. He motioned her to stay low. Switzerland ducked down to avoid being spotted as the figure drove along the road.

It was a military truck and by the apparent abuse of the wheels, torn canvas top and rickety noise, the truck was driving to its gradual end. The drivers were well-suited and armed. Behind them was a load of tired passengers with no proper clothing against the midday heat.

When the truck drove by closer, Liechtenstein gasped. Switzerland felt her tug his arm, but he did not look away from the slow moving vehicle. She whispered something to him, but he clumsily pushed it aside thinking that she was just frightened. She repeated herself again a little louder and more urgent.

Switzerland followed her gaze. Liechtenstein made him search among the exhausted passengers individually as the truck drove pass. Her sister had probably imagined one of them as her friend and he dismissed it as a mistake. When he closely eyed who it was among the passengers the second time to confirm, his eyes widened. Sure enough, there was another Nation amongst them.

Switzerland's mind raced, coming up with extravagant strategic rescues, yet he hesitated. He watched the truck leave behind black tracks along the road as it drove away. He turned to his sister and faltered. "I'm sorry, it's not safe."

Liechtenstein scowled at this. "I know you don't know her as much, but Vash, we can't just let her go! The truck might be taking her somewhere dangerous!"

"It's none of our business." He turned away. It was too risky and he kept remembering his nightmare.

"Please, don't refuse, brother," pleaded Liechtenstein. "She's one of us! A Nation! I thought you'd be happy to find someone like us! She needs our help! And…we need her, too..."

He gave one more glimpse at the Nation in the truck before it eased away.

It was Belgium, unrecognizable by her matted state. Her green uniform stained with blood, cheeks smudged with soot, dirty blonde-brown hair covered part of her stern face and her green headband was missing.

Belgium sat among the passengers, her brother Netherlands was not among them. She looked uneasy but glowing with health compared to the men and women beside her. Maybe it was a personified Nation's trait to be aglow over humanity. Maybe it was just her looking apprehensive yet lustrous with hope and grit. Whatever it was, she contrasted from the tired faces.

Switzerland glanced back at Liechtenstein with an unreadable expression. They left the melted car and headed for the shadows to stealthily pursue the truck. He planned to save her, as soon as possible. However, he could not shake away the nightmare that might come true.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Nu este timp! (Romanian for: "There's no time!")
> 
>  _Pistolul Md. 1998_ also known as _Dracula_  
>  "a machine pistol designed and manufactured by Uzina Mecanică Sadu of Romania. It was designed in 1998 and since 2003 this weapon has been used by Brigada Antitero Bucureşti (Bucharest Anti-terrorist Brigade) of the Romanian Intelligence Service...The pistol can be fitted with a sound supressor [and] is equipped with a mechanical rear sight, with an adjustable drum for distances of 25, 50, 100 and 200 meters. Optionally, the pistol can be fitted with a target marker (laser micro collimator) or a high powered lamp (intense light spot collimator)" - quoted from Wiki.
> 
> And obviously, I chose this gun in particular for its naaaaaaaaaaame. :D
> 
> "...I'll sing you a lullaby!" Romania feared Hungary singing. She would've brought up a Hungarian song called Gloomy Sunday, blamed for more suicides than any song in history - 18 in Hungary apparently.  
>  
> 
> Note on CANNIBALISM:  
> I understand that it takes YEARS to develop such a disease and from this perspective *points at her own fanfic* it's rather unbelievable in a span of, say, four-six months. I've been troubled by the timeline several times too after looking it over and over and over again for possibilities and leeway.
> 
> I wrote on such a subject to do what was mentioned in Glassamilk's Gutters:  
> "...Waterlogged bodies in Croatia. Cannibals in Hungary. Seemingly endless sink holes in Slovenia..."
> 
> So, to support both of our "strange theories" I will say that the cannibalism got so extreme instantly because of limited water supply, destroyed farmlands, dead animals/livestock, and disease. (No not Zombie disease, xD. As mentioned previously, the people resorted to their "tribal" ways. Not zombie ways...I hope.)
> 
> Chapter Title from: V for Vandetta by Alan Moore (Awesome movie and graphic novel. I highly recommend to anyone who likes a take on WWIII )


	4. Eyes Cold as Ice

  _"In much knowledge there is also much grief." - Queen Marie of Romania (1875-1938)_

* * *

 

_"Hungary…Hungary…"_

Her back was aching from the uncomfortable rest. She sat up and allowed her legs to dangle from the pale, textured branch. She was weary, her heavy eyes squinting at a dawn. It was early, and a voice called to her ever so softly. It sounded like her name. Was it her country?

Hungary rubbed her eyes and looked over to where Romania slept. He was still wrapped up in his nest of blankets, hat peeking over.  _I swear I am seriously hearing things_ , she thought, stretching her limbs. She felt good this morning. Unusually refreshed and rejuvenated with no trace of hunger or thirst in her mouth. She tasted her lips and felt fresh morning dew against them.

Above her, blue water droplets dripped down to her hair and face as she looked up to welcome them. The Nation clambered down the tree trunk and landed quietly on the soft laden earth. Leaves crunched underneath her bare feet and the voice called again.

_"Hungary…Hungary…"_

This time, it was closer. Hungary walked over to where Romania placed the carcasses from last night's ordeal. Wait a minute – nothing was there but autumn leaves.  _Leaves?_  Where was all the ash? Hungary glanced back at the tree where she had just climbed down. It was still there beside another tree, both were rich in colour and…alive.  _Alive?!_

Hungary's heart started beating faster. The other trees faded and were replaced by colourfully red and orange ones. Deep inside, she felt the need to wake up, but her curiosity bested her to stay a while. How bad could this be? She was not in the grey and blackened landscape, but in a beautifully decorated autumn setting. Romania was nowhere to be seen and she breathed happily in this place. All to herself! When she twirled with the breeze a white dress enrobed her in velvet, making her ever more light-headed with ecstasy. Hungary let her mind at ease, taking in the sweet gentle wind weaving around her body like a vine.

_"Hungary…Hungary…"_

The Nation felt the disturbance and almost jolted at the sight of a red-eyed little boy before her. She took a cautious step back but when she recognized who it was, she relaxed. "Gilbert?"

The child grinned playfully, blinking his beady red-purple eyes up at her as he stepped closer with his bare toes. He had on his old Teutonic white garment, the cross embellished on his chest. Hungary was entranced by how vivid he looked. She almost went up to him when a thought struck her.  _Am I dead? Romania killed me! I knew it. That jerk, killed me in my sleep!_

A chilling wave ran through her the moment the boy's fingers made contact with her own; he tugged her to follow him but she was too dazed to move.

The Prussian looked up at her and made an impatient noise. " _Geez, just hurry up and follow me already, silly girl-boy!_ "

Hungary smiled, before glancing back to where her tree stood. Nothing was there anymore, but a vast expanse of autumn leaves lit by the waking dawn, so she let the boy lead her away.

The little Gilbert pulled her through a gradually changing forest. They reached a versicoloured garden with more kinds of flowers and plants than Hungary could name. Passing through, she held out her fingers to feel the dew covered silky petals of each vivid flower. Finally Gilbert halted in front of a tall splendid window hovering above their trail, like it clung to an invisible wall. Where the window floated, the garden ended to dirt.

" _Don't tell me you're scared of a floating window,_ " chuckled the boy. Hungary rolled her eyes.

"Forgive me," said a familiar voice through the window pane, making her jolt.

Anxious, Hungary peered through the glass hoping to find… _Austria_ _?_

Pass the window, a recognizable scene was illustrated. There was a black grand piano in the midst of a regal interior of only the finest décor. It was hard not to smile at the familiar Austrian pacing around.

The Nation wore his usual dark indigo suit and he seemed to be rehearsing a few words. Hungary knocked on the window glass to get his attention, but something was terribly wrong. Her hands felt nothing; they were transparent and ghostly, going straight through the window without making contact. She returned to watch her disgruntled friend on the other side as the scene unfolded.

"Hungary, I know you might not listen to me when it concerns them," said Austria. He fixed his glasses and sat on a chair. "But I assure you they will be taken care of. I am sorry but zhere was not much I could do. I believe I panicked and I – "

"Hey, Austria!" An albino man threw the doors open with pompous confidence. He was wearing his usual German blue military and his devious smile. "I see someone's got another dirty little secret?" Austria made no comment.

Prussia laughed and turned to different matters at hand. "Anyways! Still got that needle whatchamacalit? I want to tell West about it! Seriously, we're being jackasses not sharing any of this shit."

"NO!" Austria stood up, he blared inhumanly more than necessary. "You've asked that several times already! I've had enough, Prussia! It is none of his business and I told you that I've made very little of this. No one else must know, only Hungary and I!" Austria rubbed his temples. "And unfortunately  _you_."

"Fine, fine, fine!" Prussia submitted with a dramatic sigh. "I get it. You killed your frickin' scientists just so you can keep it to yourself, you've told us already, sheesh. You said it best, but I didn't think you were  _that_  much of a selfish  _dummkopf_!"

The Austrian Nation impatiently murmured something about side effects, but he disregarded them and cleared his throat with poise. "State your business, Gilbert."

Prussia unsheathed a pen and hastily unfolded a piece of paper. "Just tell me if your division is ready to be transported over to my place."

"Yes," replied Austria. "I have arranged a line of men from Linz to Braunau. They should be arriving at your checkpoint shortly. The trains are loaded with – "

"Yeah, yeah, they're loaded with snobby Austrians coming to my place, I got it." Prussia scribbled something down and looked up at him. "What time is it?"

"Do you mean how much time we have  _left_?"

"Yeah."

Austria looked at his watch. "Almost a quarter past eleven, why? I am sure we have plenty more time to –"

Prussia swore under his breath. "We should be heading out now – as in – seriously – now!" He marched towards the door; Austria followed closely, asking for a reason.

Prussia lowered his tone. "West told me Japan's status. "It was not healthy. The Nations are a little anxious of an unexpected – " he was cut off mid-sentence. They felt the ground rumble beneath. "Yeah…That."

The two men steadied their footing as a louder growl from the earth erupted. A crack split the marble floor and continued up the wall, portraits tilted and a vase fell to pieces. The sound clattered as if a signal to leave.

Austria wobbled from the quake beneath. "This is rather strange," he said, glancing at the other German. "I thought we will receive the shocks much later today! I planned to talk to Hungary about –"

He broke off as the ground suddenly shot up, taking them by surprise. The abrupt elevation sent them crashing to the ground, knocking the wind out of their lungs.

Prussia grinned from the sudden adrenaline rush. "Shocking isn't it?" he said to the Austrian, who was picking himself up, fixing his glasses and brushing off dust from his coat.

They ran for the door but the floors suddenly tilted them away from it. Every window – even the one where Hungary was looking through – shattered as wind and dust buffeted angrily outside. Screams were heard and the ground erupted again with another growl, this time it tilted the floor higher, making the door unreachable for the two Nations. They both crashed to the sinking end. Furniture collided against them, the piano narrowly missing Austria.

"I think it is best we leave now," suggested the Austrian, alarmed.

Prussia scanned for an escape. "You think?!" he yelled. "Let's fucking get out of here! Where's Hungary?"

Hungary pulled away from the broken windowsill, startled by the mention of her name. Walls suddenly solidified around the window, framing a gorgeous mansion. It instantly disappeared in a mere blink, revealing a staircase leading straight to their doorway. Thinking it pointless to climb the steps, she veered pass little Gilbert to go around the floating window for a shortcut.

She rammed against an invisible wall and bruised herself. She scowled at the smiling little boy and ran for the steps. Apparently, she could not take shortcuts in this weird state. Right when she reached the door, Prussia and Austria looked at her like she was a burning flame.

Hungary noticed her dress drastically changed into the wrinkled uniform she remembered wearing that day... She felt a pull forward to reach for her friends in distress. Something was controlling her into the memory like a puzzle piece fitting in.

Careful not to fall in with them as the earth jolted again, Hungary called out. "Roderich! Gilbert! I need a rope or –"

"Curtains!" Austria cried out. "As much as I don't want us to ruin zhe drapery –"

"Just take zem down already! I don't think you'll need curtains after the apocalypse!" exclaimed Prussia, who jumped to the nearest window, and tore off the drapes with a powerful swing.

Austria did the same. "These were imported," he sighed.

The Prussian quickly snatched it from him and started knotting fabric together. "You suggested it. Your fault!"

Hungary threw one down to them and told them that she was getting more from her side. The little Gilbert appeared next to her and indicated the corridor. There were more windows with curtains and luckily the wall was tilted to make an easy grabbing.

She heard Austria call out to her. "Elizaveta, I have a confession to make!"

"Not now!" she yelled back, pulling down every curtain she could muster. Hungary heard Prussia telling her friend now was not the time at all.

"Gilbert, I must tell her now or never!"

Hungary hurled more curtains at them and Prussia vigorously tied knot after knot until the drapes were long enough.

Meanwhile, Austria raced for words. "Forgive me, Hungary. Remember that I promised you food supplies  _andsoforth_  in the event of the aftermath?"

Hungary stumbled to answer him. "Yes?"

Austria staggered over his topics. "Well, my people and I have confided in everything but one part. And I've talked to the Magyars –"

Prussia tied the curtains to a chair and tossed the seat to Hungary, she quickly wedged the chair to a window frame.

" – the majority of your population will fit in the shelters I have in store for them," Austria continued. "But we made a miscalculation with our supplies, and – well, they're lower than we thought. The supplies had not been fully organized from the very beginning. So when I brought up the issue, one of your leaders took this seriously into play. And –"

"Climb and go straight to the fucking point, Austria!" Prussia asserted, handing him the end of the drapery rope, he urged him to go first.

Austria started his climb unsteadily. "And I have recalculated," sped the Nation, "and went over and over the inventory. Unfortunately, there was not enough food to circulate our combined populations for years, if it came down to lasting that long."

"Ahem?!" Prussia frowned at the exclusion.

"Hungary," Austria reached out for her when he was closer. "I am afraid one of the Magyar leaders is leading their division to the eastern countries for help. Your people – today and right now, it seems – are being separated dramatically."

Hungary took his hand. "Where are they heading?" she asked, though she could predict the answer already.

"Romania?" Prussia suggested, peering beyond Austria to look at her. Hungary held Austria's hand, her eyes glazed with blankness like she was in another world.

Austria cautiously continued as another tremor shook them. "Yes, they will be arriving at Romania in minutes, but I believe that they intend to make it to Russia and simply drive by the Carpathians, nothing more. The Magyars released this decision last night, and unfortunately, you were occupied with your military, Poland's party and the news that reached us from Japan. This morning, you wanted to check on –"

"I understand I was distracted then!" She glowered and pulled him up to her level, inches from her face. "A conniving Nation, you are Austria…"

"Hungary, please, had I known of this earlier –"

"I was distracted with other matters, sure, but you did not make an effort to involve me in this? This concerns me among  _my_  people! Not yours! They are not yours to play with! I thought you cared about me! Time has run out!"

"Listen –"

"You've done this before Austria! 1848! I thought you'd never do it again!"

"This is  _not_  like –"

"You tell me this now and you even insist on –"

"Hello, you two?!" Prussia whined from below them, looking bored out of his mind. "The world is  _ending_ and you're having small talk?!"

Hungary pulled Austria up grudgingly. The moment Austria was about to give her his other arm to settle on her landing, a tremendous jolt flung them on opposite ends. Austria faltered back and before Hungary could catch him, he fell off the platform.

Letting out a cry, Hungary pushed herself to see where he landed. Luckily, Prussia caught the Austrian with one arm before he could fall to his death.

Prussia decisively lassoed the curtains to the nearest standing wall before they were torn loose. Hungary remained where she was, clinging to the ground, as the tectonic plates miles beneath the earth lurched and moved against themselves. The quake broke the entire mansion; building walls crumbled, the ceiling fell and the floors split. Austria and Prussia's floor sunk even lower and this time it tilted, leaning away from her and towards a widening gap of earth. It was as if they were being offered a chance to fall to their death.

Metal, rock and wood splinted and churned as the ground split right in between them. A car managed to topple the walls and crash on to Hungary's side. The ground gave another violent jolt, sending Austria dangerously near the chasm, but Prussia caught his arm again and pulled him back. They clung for dear life as dangerously sharp wreckage was thrown at them.

Hungary injured herself, her hands slick with blood from wounding stone and chafing metal. Yet she felt no painful sensations from her bleeding injuries.  _No! This isn't right!_ Her mind cried out for the little Gilbert who completely disappeared. This felt so real. This is a dream.  _I should be awake by now!_ Her formerly peaceful escape of a dream was quickly turning into a horrible nightmare.

She looked back to where Austria and Prussia were. Austria cried out her name but Prussia restrained him as the world shook again. This time the floor was angrier. Hungary's floor tilted and she was flung away from the doorframe. She swore to herself that their final glance at each other was not their last exchange.

Tumbling down to the other side, rocks scraped her arms until the pavement harshly greeted her. She slowly looked up and saw a pandemonium of Hungarians stampeding through the streets. Authority figures were trying to coordinate them, but many fled to the eastern horizon. Bloody and bruised, she numbly followed the runaways, zooming by every street, trying to find the front of the crowd to try and lead them.

She left behind the torn mansion that contained the lives of her childhood friends. _What am I doing? How could I? This is just a dream! I'm being selfish! No, I'm not! My people come first! I'm sorry Austria. Sorry Prussia._ Stopping her stride, her heart pulsed and her lungs ached.

Suddenly her stomach turned inside, making her spew. Hungary caught her belly, bracing for another internal jerk. Instead her mouth began to water, then she remembered at last.  _Today._  They vanished.  _A week._  A blur of desperation.  _Two months._  Something went wrong.  _Four months._  Downhill.

She searched for the little Gilbert again, and this time, she spotted him casually sitting on a bench, watching the pandemonium like it was a family movie. He looked completely at ease, dangling his feet; a child unaware of the people panicking around him.

Hungary felt the urge to run alongside her people, but she fought it and took a step towards the mystic boy. His expression changed from content to disbelief, when she approached.

 _"Hey, what are you doing?"_ he asked, dumbly. _"The show's not over!"_

"Don't start with that!" she snarled. "I remember what happened next!"

 _"Oh."_  The little Gilbert started swinging his legs to entertain himself.  _"Okay then, have a seat."_

"I don't like this anymore!" stressed the Hungarian, heavily sitting beside him.

" _Tell me about it._ "

Hungary hesitated, but she had to let it all out. At least to Gilbert, she was comfortable.

"Today," she began. "Many perished…animals, plants and people. Food supplies vanished so fast from the panic until complete starvation. In a week, our technology turned primitive and everyone starved for electricity and longed for food. Two to three months…people were starving, one of my men went mental and that one ripple created a wave…"

_"Ah…"_

Pause. They glanced at each other for a minute before the boy urged on.  _"Well, go on, keep talking! I don't have all day!"_

Hungary raged. "For four months, everyone panicked, okay?! I don't remember what else from there. All I could think of were sinkholes, ditches and water!" She cradled her face as if it was falling apart with mixed emotions. "Gilbert, I don't think it was just one random human who infected my people into cannibalism."

 _"Ahahaha!"_ Gilbert smiled.  _"Remember no plants, water, cats and shit?"_

"I know, but –"

_"And the amount of human meat lying everywhere! And not to mention the fallen order and the drama injected into this hell? All it takes is one stupid guy to go nuts and TADAAH!"_

Hungary fell silent.

They took a moment watching the illusions disappear. Streets erased, people faded and all that was left was the bench and the two of them.  _"Before you go, Liz, I want you to leave off on a high note,"_ said Gilbert.

Hungary almost cried at the mention of her nickname. It had been a while since…

The little boy stole something from one of her pockets.  _"You remember zhis?"_

She nodded at the needle held out to her. Austria told her all about the syringe's contents when they departed from a grand meeting weeks ago. He called it the "Immunity" and it was supposed to keep them alive for a lengthy while in the aftermath. He said he had it tested and assured her –and Prussia – that it was harmless to the personified Nation-kind. So far, it had kept her alive.

The little Gilbert tucked it back in her pocket, his tone turned serious. _"Austria and the older-awesome me had our own share. I know you knew that already, but I just wanted to remind you before you go_.  _And I think it's funny what Austria did. The green stuff is working so well!_ " He clapped his hands and looked at her with knowing eyes. " _Do you think he tested it on lab rats first, or chimps? Did he ever tell?_ "

Hungary gave him a puzzled look. "Gilbert –"

Cutting off her sentence, the little Gilbert stood up lightly when a black hole opened below their feet. Hungary expected to fall into the abyss, but she floated where she sat. The bench hovered and so did the boy. This was just a dream.

"Wait! Where are they, Gilbert?" asked the Nation. She felt herself descending into the blackness. In the hole, a blackened tree materialized and her boots wormed their way towards it, agonizingly slowly. "Stop! Wait! Gilbert!" Her voice started to sound raspy and her hunger returned, along with the sickly scent of ash and decay that would rake her lungs the moment she returned to reality.

" _Pfft! You're funny, Liz,"_  laughed the little boy, flying around her in a circle. " _I can't believe the whole time you thought you were dead! This was all a memory!_ " He waved her goodbye with his trademark grin. " _Now, don't forget to eat well! Ahehehe!"_

_What?!_

Hungary gawked.  _He's fading away and he tells me to eat well?! What?! 'Goodbyes' are too much to say?_ She called for him again, but he faded away into a distant recollection of the past.

* * *

The truck drove along its rickety path down the road. From a distance, Switzerland and Liechtenstein stayed hidden and followed it all the way to its first stop.

It led them to an uneasy terrain, filled with overlapping roads, shattered glass and sharp, twisted metal from melted cars. Switzerland kept a close eye on the truck, like a predator stalking his prey. He checked on his sister for any signs of exhaustion, but she lit up with every step when they closed in on the moving people.

In light of the afternoon, the vehicle manoeuvred over a variety of bumps on the road, unsettling its passengers. When it finally rested by a habitable wreckage site, the men and women breathed a sigh of relief. Not everyone could take the heat and churning of the ride, let alone the stuffiness of the other passengers.

Switzerland and his sister found a trench linking to their shadowy hill and they quickly ran towards it for cover. Obscured, Switzerland unloaded their things. He chose a region of the trench that was closely hidden with many blind spots for the onlooker above. He shifted a boulder to where they planned to rest and it turned into a solid stone door. For the rest of their temporary shelter, he used blankets; it was all to conceal them from the enemy above.

"Tonight, you have to stay here Lili," instructed the Swiss Nation to his sibling. "It's not safe. I'll go alone."

His sister approached him quietly and placed a hand to his face. He shivered at how cold she was; her hands felt frosty. Switzerland checked her forehead and neck for any signs of fever or illness, but all he felt was her chilly skin and all he could see was her smudged face.  _She's not_ that _sick, right?_  Avidly, he felt the need to provide more for her. He searched his bag for medicine.  _She needs her daily dose._

"Oh big brother," she giggled at him in a carefree aura. "I'll be fine!"

"No, you won't be! And no, you're not!" He opened a bottle and held out a pill. "Have this! You forgot to have a dose today!"

Liechtenstein wrapped her cold hands around his palm and closed it, motioning him to have the pill instead. "I'm just cold, Vash, but I'm all right inside."

Flustered by her playful behaviour, Switzerland put the pill away and told her to stay put and guard their things. He enrobed himself with a black-hooded coat and loaded his guns; in case his stealthy strategy failed, he readied a grenade and knife.

Liechtenstein pranced to her things and lit a small candle. Fortunately, the little fire was sheltered behind the trench and all an enemy could see from above would just be an eerie ghostly glow.

Switzerland exercised his limbs for the fight and tightened the black scarf along his neck. In minutes he'll be gone for the rescue, leaving his sister veiled and unsupervised.

He hesitated and glanced at his sibling. Seating herself close by the candlelight, Liechtenstein took her goggles off to see well. Then with her book and pencil, she started doodling on an already-filled page. "I'll draw you something when you get back," she exclaimed.

Strange. Switzerland did not remember her changing into her day dress last night, so she had probably done so along the way. Perhaps it was during their stops a couple of nights ago and he was just noticing now.

"Keep your mask on, okay?" he told her. Then he added a few more instructions to secure her safety.

"Keep the candlelight to a minimum. You shouldn't be drawing in the dark; it's too dark to see and it's bad for your eyes. And there are still plenty of snacks in the bag you can eat, okay? And go to sleep if you must; you'd be camouflaged that way because you don't make noise sleeping, and –"

"Brother…" Liechtenstein gazed up at him intensely. "Just promise me, you'll save her…for me?"

Switzerland blinked away a sting in his eyes. "I promise, Lili," he affirmed, making his sister smile. But there was something almost…sad…about the smile. "I'll be back in a few minutes, stay alert," he quickly added. Right when she nodded to him, he leaped over the trench and vanished into the dark.

The night sky covered the Alpine and it looked like Nature was in favour for his rescue. Switzerland crept behind one ruined wall to another. Debris absorbed the sound of his footsteps and the breeze stole away his scent from the enemy's campsite. He kept his eyes to the crew and his mind calculated for possible opportunities to make a move. In a normal situation, Switzerland could scare away or silence anyone in a heartbeat with a single gunfire. But in this current circumstance a single bullet could be jeopardizing. Lives were at stake and he was not going to take any chances with the other guns at present.

The drivers were heavily armed gunmen, yet they were very dim. They stood at the very end of the group, probably indecisive about patrolling the campground. In the meantime, the passengers were in small groups; some stayed in the truck while the rest huddled near a clumsy campfire. The whole scene looked weakly secured and Switzerland wondered if things would orchestrate so easily.

It was not hard to find Belgium. She was actively in and around the camp; pacing by the huddled individuals, inspecting the people in the truck, and then rummaging through their belongings like there was nothing wrong. Switzerland suddenly thought if she needed rescue at all. The girl looked unafraid and she certainly did not look worried of the gunmen guarding them. She simply looked like she was trying to find something. Perhaps she was looking for something to do or maybe something to eat.  _Did she know the people?_ Switzerland wondered.

He waited a moment longer for an opportunity to talk to the Nation, and to see if he could bring her to his sibling.

Oblivious, Belgium turned his way and walked up to a box located near him. She searched for its contents and tossed it out for its emptiness. Unaware, she slumped on the other side of a fallen cornice where Switzerland hid.

Taking a risk, Switzerland whispered, "Belgium!"

The Nation was spooked, but the only sound she made was a tiny yelp. She went frigid, thinking Netherlands' ghost was calling to her.

He tried again. "Belgium it's me, Switzerland!"

The Nation did not turn to him, she only flinched. Softly, she responded to his call. "Switz? That sounds like you! How are you?"

Switzerland grunted.

Belgium smiled but she kept her delighted gaze to the camp. She knew that if she made a suspicious move, the crew would turn to her.

"Lili wants to see you again," whispered the Alpine.

"Really?" she thrilled. "Um…Could you give me a moment, Alps?"

"Wait, there's –" Before Switzerland could finish, she was already walking towards the gunmen and no one noticed a change in her stride.  _What's she doing?_ Switzerland's breathe quickened.

Belgium approached the guards, eagerly yelling, "Men, I have  _someone_  to report!"

 _She's reporting me!_  Stumbling back, Switzerland lost his footing and lumbered against metal material, accidentally making a loud clang.

Debris blocked his view of the campsite; he was blinded to what was happening on the other side. A holler erupted in the campsite and he could hear the gun men scream after him, he feared. He unsheathed his gun and aimed for the incoming assault.

Nothing emerged to pounce on him. He listened closely to the noises, trying to interpret the events going on. The Nation heard what sounded like heavy pounding. Fists and metal clashed. Footsteps of men and women gathered to a spot and then a voice bellowed over them.

Flabbergasted, Switzerland did not dare to move a muscle. The people started cheering. He heard what sounded like instructions being exchanged, a forceful disperse of a crowd followed by mild threats and gunshots. He did not hear the truck drive away, only a momentary dragging of something heavy. After the outburst faded, he heard hasty footsteps approach his hiding spot.

A familiar pair of pale emerald eyes appeared and by impulse Switzerland pulled the trigger, narrowly missing Belgium by a hair.

"Whoa, Switzy! Friendly fire, I beg you!" hailed the Belgian, a grin plastered across her happy face.

She held out a clammy palm to help him up. "Did you see what I did? It was fun! Why didn't you join in?"

Switzerland stood up independently and walked by her with austere. He surveyed what she just did and restrained his astonishment. Before him was an empty campsite, two dead bodies were set aside the road, the people had disappeared elsewhere and the campfire was doused.

Belgium stood beside him now heavily armed and clinging on her belt were respiratory masks. "I had everything under control, Mister Switzerland!" she smiled.

Switzerland adjusted his coat and brushed off ash from his shoulders. "Just Vash," he shrugged and held out his hand for a proper hand-shake. "Just call me Vash."

"Sorry." She shook his hand. "It's just – we don't normally talk and Lili's barely at my –"

"Let's just go get her, Belgium," snapped the Alpine, letting go of her enthusiastic clutch.

"Just call me Bel for now," bubbled the Nation. "Lead the way Vash! Vash Zwingli is it? My brother mentioned you once. He said you were some stoic guy who likes guns. Apparently a little self-centered, sometimes. Is that true? He said you're like him too.  _Frugal!_ " She laughed.

Switzerland looked at her for a moment. Making no comment, he turned away and marched to the trench. He wondered how cheery she would be once she reunites with Liechtenstein. They were friends after all, and Belgium seemed to be the type to easily succumb to something adorable. No wonder countries like England, France, Spain and even Romano like her. For Switzerland, she annoyed the heck out of him. He did not even do anything in the rescue and things did not go according to  _his_  strategic planning. He just sat back and watched!  _I could have just stayed with Lili or at least used my grenade!_  They reached the mouth of their hideout and paused.

"How did you do it?" Switzerland quietly asked the other Nation.

Belgium was peering over the trench when she replied. "Huh? Oh – oh the fighting?"

Switzerland nodded.

"I'm smart." Belgium confidently raised her head. "I kick ass like my big brother, my good friends are tough ladies, I had an Austrian and a German takeover, I worked with a Spaniard, I kissed an Italian, I liked an Englishman, I'm friends with a Frenchman and can I kick my own ass! I think that should explain everything,  _oui_?"

The Swiss Nation wondered why he even asked. He jumped down the trench and looked for his sibling. Liechtenstein's sketchbook was left where she sat earlier and the stub of a candle was melting beside it, its light dimly flickering. The moonlight was bright enough to outline the stark of night, so Switzerland blew out the flame.

He peered through the stone door to check on his sister. Safely inside, Liechtenstein was sleeping on his neatly folded blanket.

Landing in the trench quietly, Belgium asked, "Is she sleeping?"

Switzerland vacantly replied, "Of course! Wait here." He brought out a spare blanket and pillow for Belgium. "You don't mind sleeping outside?"

" _Pish, posh_ , I've been sleeping outside for days." She received them happily and set up her bed by Liechtenstein's candle. "Seriously, there haven't been any bugs or animals about. The world has gotten rid of them and only bacteria survived eating whatever remains were left over – really gross. But for the most part, I've been sleeping comfortably on the ground!"

Belgium stretched her limbs for a few minutes, waiting for Switzerland to continue the conversation. When he remained silent, the Belgian spotted Liechtenstein's sketchbook and said, "I can see Lili tomorrow. I mean, she's probably exhausted – may I look through this lovely sketchy?" Belgium waved it up for Switzerland to take a quick look. After he gave permission, she fingered through the sketched-filled pages.

Unmoved by her enthusiasm, Switzerland grumbled, "I guess it's not so dark for you to read."

"The moonlight's pretty bright," beamed Belgium before returning her attention back to the drawings.

He felt assured that she was going to keep watch, seeing that she was filled with enough energy for it. He did not want to disturb Liechtenstein's slumber, so he decided on sleeping by the stone door close to her. Switzerland was about to surrender to sleep when he was startled by Belgium's sudden shriek.

Belgium was horror-stricken at a page in Liechtenstein's sketchbook.

Oddly furious, Switzerland snatched the sketchbook away from the Nation – not that his face was ever doodled in any of the pages. "I change my mind – you shouldn't be looking through this! This is personal!" Switzerland closed the book and shoved it in one of his suitcases. "It's rude! I don't even look through it…what?"

Looking at Belgium, he was confused by her frightened face. She was quivering in fear and staring straight at him with misty eyes.

"You have not sifted through the pages, you say?" Belgium asked shuddering at the sight of him. She had a lump caught in her throat when she requested another answer. "Where's…where's Liechtenstein, Vash?"

He was stunned with confusion.  _What is she talking about? Must be the medicine acting up_ , he thought.  _But it never acted up. I'm tired._

"Is…is…she in there?" Belgium glanced at the stone door where Liechtenstein lay sleeping.

Switzerland nodded furiously. "Yes! She's sleeping! Keep to your business and stop crying for no reason!" He closed the subject. "I'm going to sleep."

"She wrote a  _will_  in her sketchbook, Vash!"

Switzerland ignored her. He became severely upset and paid no more attention. The Alpine settled back to his spot and closed his eyes, his back turned to Belgium.

"I know what I saw! It was dated in June!" The Nation sobbed behind him. "Vash, she died the moment of the flashes and she saw it coming! See for yourself! It's dated in her sketchbook! It's  _written_ in her sketchbook!"

He disagreed to everything she was saying.  _Not true. No, no, no._   _Lili's still here! She's sleeping. Just a dream. A nightmare._ "I'm warning you now to be quiet –"

"Or what? Shoot me?! I understand that it's hard to accept, but – "

Switzerland growled menacingly and hissed over his shoulder. "Lili is sleeping and you're going to wake her up! I swear if you say another word, you will regret it!"

Belgium huddled herself close and silently whimpered. Unconcerned, Switzerland rested, facing away from the Nation. He dismissed her overreactions as completely insane delusions.  _Nightmares don't leave me alone easily,_ he thought so. _I've got to shoot them out of my turf to leave me alone_.

When deep sleep engulfed him, something dark resurfaced in the back of his mind. Realization sparked a small flint and lit a flame in the gloom of his subconscious. Things had not been what they seemed after all. He leaned against the cold stone wall between him and where he thought his sibling slept. For the first time ever, a tear drop slowly slid down his cheek. Belgium was right. Liechtenstein had not been around the whole time.


	5. The Boiling Point of Truth

The morning ebbed slowly, and it was still dark when the Romanian Nation awoke. He felt every inch of his body ache, but he ignored it. Straightening up, he stretched and looked around. No one else was moving besides the Hungarian across from him. She was kicking around in her sleep, muttering in distress.

 _Must be a nightmare,_  he snickered. Hungary was unconsciously ruining her clothes against the soot covered branch. Romania grinned at the thought of a 'soot-flavoured' nightmare.  _Serves her right! Literally! Ha, ha!_

He packed up his sleeping bag and weapons. After making a final check to make sure he had everything, he loosened the harness that bound him to the tree branch, and cautiously slid down and untied the rope. Mask on and wary of his surroundings, the Nation lowered his sled and crates.

Dawn was fading. Romania had a couple of hours to spare before daybreak and before Hungary wakes up. He placed a half open can of soup under her tree. Feeling generous, he quickly roped himself to the Hungarian's nest and placed an expired pear on a branch near her level. He laid the moldy fruit close to where she could reach when she gets up. He intended the placement in a manner that she would hopefully knock the fruit off the tree when she awakes.  _It should work or else she'll suffer stomach aches eating_ this _fruit,_ he thought.  _Then again, either way it'll be entertaining._

Fixing his prank even more, he scrambled to the canned soup at the foot of the tree and shifted it to a blind spot where her foot would most likely land when she climbs down. That way she would step on it or knock it over.  _Accidentally her fault_ , he smiled at his work.

Romania glanced at the direction of Arad. They were quite close, only a few kilometres away. Once they reach it, Hungary would discover one of his secrets.  _Might as well tell her before hand,_ Romania sulked. He finished his breakfast, and with a broken stick, he started squiggling on the dirt. He doodled this and that to help with the explanation he prepared for.

He was listening intently to his surroundings, and for a while he only heard Hungary's uncomfortable tossing. Suddenly, another sound emanated from within the trees nearby – so close that Romania almost had no time to ready his gun. A man emerged out of the forest wearing a respiration mask like his, a sheathed rifle strapped behind him. As he approached, Romania could tell it was one of his stealthy patrollers from the cave.

"Sir?" the pudgy human was dumbfounded as he took off his woollen hat in a polite manner.

"Good morning," Romania greeted, like a captain would his men. "You must have arrived from Arad, I suppose?"

"Yes, sir! Of course, sir!"

Romania gestured him to keep quiet, before glancing at Hungary sleeping on a tree. "Let's not wake up Sleeping Beauty."

The man suddenly looked at him with bulging eyes of surprise. "Sir?!"

The Nation sighed. "No, she's not my girlfriend."

"Sir?"

"Definitely not my wife."

"Sir..."

"Well, we did sleep together last night." Romania grinned at the man's utter confusion.

"Sir!"

The Nation laughed at the joke.  _I just love my people._  "No, no – not on the same tree!" Romania took off his mask; he had fogged it up from laughing so hard. "We don't even like each other! We hate each other. And that, my friend, is an understatement." Taking in the priceless moment, Romania ambled over to the prank he had set up and showed it off.

"Oh." The man grubbily placed his wool hat back on his head and regarded the sled. "Okay…well…Sir…?"

"Oh, yes!" Romania went up to his sled and took his backpack from it. "Take this sled to Arad, Bob. And from there transport yourself back to the cave." The Nation suddenly snapped his fingers, fished out letters from his suit and gave them to the man he nicknamed Bob – even though he knew his real name was Robert.

He knew his people's full names by heart, yet sometimes he found it funny to call them nicknames and they did not mind at all.

He handed another letter to the patroller. "Give this one to the little girl Nadia."

"Sir?"

"Yes, her, in particular." Romania led the man away from their campsite; he figured he should at least walk him half-way safely to the Arad station just to be cautious.

The sled trundled behind Bob as the man pulled it gingerly. The load wobbled, though everything was securely in place with ropes wrapped around each crate. Even with no wheels for convenience, the patroller had no problem dragging what appeared like a pathetic barrow of heavy goods.

"Bob, you're a man of many words," said Romania, "and I'm sure you're fine lugging this along by yourself. This sled might make some noise, but I don't think there'll be problems stalking around these parts for a while. The cannibals must've moved elsewhere."

"Indeed, sir."

"Were you gonna meet another patroller around here?"

"Sir –" the man tossed the subject aside and faced the Nation with intelligence. " _Suntem curioşi de agenda ta_. Who are you looking for? Are we still going to Russia?"

Romania was taken aback. "Ugh…yes, we are still going to go to Russia and maybe even Poland. Plans didn't change. And I am seeking a friend of mine whom I hope is around here…"

"Sir, do we know this person? We could help you find him –"

"No."  _No._  Bulgaria's out there and he would find him himself.  _Something or someone is out there..._  "I'll find him alone," the Nation insisted. "Don't worry. He's just a friend of mine lost in the cold and stormy night of the grey wilderness...I'll find him." They reached the half-way point and from the hill they could see a clear path to a surviving station. Romania smiled at the sight of the small buildings still standing.

"Okay, Sir. But what about the girl?" Bob asked, referring to Hungary.

"What about her? Oh yeah…" Romania waved the man goodbye. "She's the rubber chicken I'm either getting rid of or bringing to Cluj. I haven't decided yet."

With a nod, Bob disappeared into the station with his sled. Romania watched as another patroller tended to him and the supplies.

It was by heart that the Nation knew his men, for they were distinguishable to him – not only by their marked coats, but by their beating presence. They were fine patrollers, independently hopping around Cluj's safe perimeters. Romania was not so worried for their lives because the land was in their favour. The only concern he had were the Hungarian cannibals, but those were not so frightening when they were primitively armed compared to his patrolling crew who had the better mind set and weaponry.

 _Crap, do I really have to tell the Magyar everything?_ Romania sighed and rushed back to the trees.

When he returned to the campsite, he found Hungary face down on the ground, her canned soup squashed, its contents spilt to waste and the moldy pear fruit rolled a couple of feet away, contaminated.

Romania could not restrain his inner laughter seeing that his wasteful prank worked. He was trying so hard not to burst out laughing.

"Geez, I give you food and you play with it?  _Tsk, tsk!"_ He sat cross legged in front of her and continued his torment. "That pear was pretty hard to find – well, it  _was_  moldy anyway, so who cares, right _?_ "

She did not lift her head up, so it was hard to know what she was thinking. Her hair blanketed her head like a shield, and as predicted, her clothes were mucked with soot from where she slept. He supposed she was recovering from a sudden fall.

Romania swung his knapsack aside and fished out another meal for her. Keeping his bag to himself, he stood up and returned to squiggling on the dirt. "Once you're done with your dramatic awakening, let me know," he called over his shoulder.

As he drew more things on the dirt, he heard her coughing and then chugging down her food voraciously. He eyed her as she strolled over to sit beside him. Her mask hung loosely around her neck, revealing her pale face, stained with tears, ash, and soot. Suddenly, Romania felt a tinge of alarm. She looked like she had just seen a ghost!

Cautious of every word, he asked warily, "Ugh…so…where do you want to begin?"

Hungary's green eyes spited him the moment they locked onto his. Romania flinched from the intensity of the sudden glare. She looked a little demonic if it weren't for the womanly façade. Seeing his fear, Hungary twisted her mouth with content.  _I hate, hate,_ hate _this Magyar!_ Romania thought angrily, subduing his pathetic fright.

Prepared for the heavy burden of truth, Hungary laid back and said, "Start from the moment it all began: when the world Ended."

Romania was not going to reveal everything, as he decided from last night. He stood up and indicated his drawings on the ground. "Take a gander."

Hungary jumped beside him and observed his display. Romania had drawn doodles of four maps; as well as he could, he had illustrated the 'before' and 'after'. The biggest maps he drew were the before-and-after of Europe. He even had names of the countries on each part and he had purposely written 'Magyar's cursed-land' on where Hungary was.

"A masterpiece isn't it?" Romania admired. He lightly circled the changed areas on Europe. "Besides the whole world sinking, burning and so forth, I'll be focusing more on this lot, because Europe is a  _wonderful_  lot – and a hot topic to talk about. Literally."

On the 'after' version map of Europe, he pointed to parts of Scandinavia, then Britain, France, Spain and Italy, and stated that they had either been submerged underwater or burnt to uninhabitable. Romania leaped over to the other side of the map and pointed to the eastern regions of Turkey to parts in Russia that had turned derelict. He drew rivers that expanded in the south central region, and speckled the areas that had shelters which contained – or  _had_  contained – people. He shaded parts of Switzerland, Austria, Hungary's country and the southern part of Europe and claimed them dangerously infested by cannibals.

"Any news from other Nations?" Hungary interrupted.

"Nope."

The Hungarian saddened. "And all this you know how, exactly?"

"I've been all over my country," Romania retorted, "and have paid close attention to every corner of my turf and every trading merchant here. It's rather limiting, but I get enough information without technological thingies like phones and radios. Everything's broken. We're living with candlelight and gas. All I know is what I know, from what I get." He smirked.

Romania reluctantly told her about the early predictions his people had of the impending doom. He said Russia had influenced him to early planning. He told her how early his people had prepared - with dynamite, they had bombed through mountains for cave shelters; with little opposition and understandable rules, he had rapidly managed his people. They had willingly coordinated themselves in cooperation for survival. Romania also mentioned his rescues for the families that had went astray during the flashes. However, he kept his mouth shut of other details.

Hungary coughed. "How long has it been?"

Romania looked at her, befuddled. "What?"

"What day is it?" she demanded.

"Oh…ugh…" He quickly counted his gloved fingers. "It has been say…more than four to five months after June, following the flashes. How you lived that long in that ditch is beyond me. I don't know how you did it."

Hungary seemed to hesitate. "Last night…I finally remembered what had happened to me before…"

 _Oh, she's cooperating?_ Romania wondered. Curious, he had to ask, "Well…Do tell."

"What's it to you?" snapped Hungary, relighting her flame.

 _And here we go._ Romania shrugged. "Never mind, then." He weaved around the squiggled map again, immersing her with last bits of information. He located his cave and the routes he traveled, he even involved her in his search for Bulgaria and his people's plan to set forth to Russia.

Finally exhausted, he finished. "I'm leading my people to Ukraine. As much as I don't like Ivan and his sisters, I feel the need to go to them for my people's sake. From a Polish merchant, I found word that there was a boat. I believe Ivan is behind it with his sisters and his family. From what I've heard, the boat returned for more passengers and I want my people on that boat out of here.

"If we can tolerate each other long enough, you can go to Poland. Maybe you'll find someone there for your manly 'pan-handles'." Laughing, he started erasing the map on the ground carefully.

Romania put his mask back on and took out the stringent chemical spray from his bag. He sprayed the wasted compost from his prank and right after the chore, he strode away, not bothering to tell Hungary they were leaving. It was a little ways off to the station anyway.

Soon after, the Hungarian joined him, her mask still around her neck. He was conscious of her watching him intently, her piercing eyes hotly glaring him down. "How come you lived so healthy this long?" she asked.

Romania acknowledged her question with a chortle. "Well, I should ask you the same thing! But I'll tell you my secret. I have lived this long breathing in the toxins because of the things I wear." He tapped the respiration mechanism around his face, and took out his favourite hat to put on his head in a silly fashion. "This cover of will and this visage of goodness."

Hungary rolled her eyes. "'Visage of Goodness?' Visage of  _Idiocy,_  in my opinion. You left your sled of crates back there."

"And who asked for your opinion, Miss Moody?" Romania grumbled. "My sled is safe somewhere else, and you have no idea where!"

"You're right," she complied icily. "You must have made it disappear. A trick you've pulled out of your hat, 'Now-you-see-it-now-you-don't', hmm?"

 _I will kill her tonight, it has got to be tonight,_ Romania blinked away the scheme.

They neared an uphill turn and in a few more minutes they would soon be arriving at Arad. With every step, Romania suffered question after question from Hungary, some of which he did not want to answer for secrecy's sake. In the end, the Nation did his best to return immediate and short replies. There seemed to be a silent contest between them – who could be patient with the other the longest.

"You never explained to me what you were doing at the Great Plains," Hungary asked, coughing.

"I traveled to a big trade post, a couple kilometres south of Budapest," he countered.

"Trade post? Were there any –"

"I wasn't sure if there were any Austrians or Germans among them. I was busy keeping a low profile."

"Why were you – "

"I don't trust other people. I only trust my own and my own trust me. Pretty logical I say, don't you think?"

"Explain where you got your weapons and your food supply!"

"Pulled them out of my hat," he grinned.

Hungary punched his ribs unexpectedly. Romania cringed and opened his mask for air, only to choke. She stood before him and ripped his bag open. The Hungarian found what she was looking for. The frying pan.

"You have not told me everything," she sharply stated, then zipped his bag shut with a pan on one hand. "You have not said anything about your stupid cannibalistic encounters."

"Gee, I figure we should get along first," Romania snorted sarcastically. He tried to gather himself up, but his bag felt so heavy all of a sudden. He felt vulnerable as he braced for Hungary's imminent assault. But they were so close to the station! All he needed to do was climb over the hill and bring her to Arad. The station, the trains…they would be revealed, his men would help him…

Hungary roughly pressed the pan against his cheek and threatened him severely. "Tell me, how many cannibals are out there, how many have you killed, and how many are Magyars! Don't refuse to answer!"

Romania let out an exasperated sigh. "This is how you thank me? After all we've been through?"

"Tell me or else!"

"Or else you'll turn me into a pancake, I know," replied Romania, completely tired of her incessantly aggressive behaviour.

Finally, he surrendered. He had kept the secret for too long. "Some percentage of your population had turned into cannibals," he said, "along with Austria's and the other countries' people around that region. For all I know, they'd gotten desperate until in a matter of months they turned into hunters with plenty of water-logged bodies to feast on. Unfortunately for me, a bunch of mangy Magyars found it easier to hunt eastwards at the borderline of my country. They're mostly south though – which is a relief. I bet they – "

"How many have you  _killed_?" Hungary demanded to know. The pan pressed firmly against his face, threatening to bruise.

"I led a few of them to a ditch! Got it?!" he yelled. "The closest trap was a sinkhole that was half-filled up with dead guys! They added to the stinkin' pile! They got killed starving in there and – I don't know – I guess you were already in the bottom of the pit before I dumped more in! It was at Szeged!"

The Hungarian croaked. "What?"

"You heard me!" Romania took the advantage and stole away the frying pan from her gaped expression and frozen hands. She fought back with a swing of a fist but missed. Romania continued to roughly explain as he wrestled the pan away from her grasp. "Sinkhole! Your place! Found  _you_  there! Get it, now?!"

Hungary suddenly elbowed him in the gut again. This time she freed her pan away and swung it straight to his head. Romania dodged, but his bag took the hit and he scrambled to steady.

Hungary seized another chance and kicked his footing. "Liar!" she screamed, beating him mercilessly with the pan.

"No!" fought Romania, using his bag to shield him from her attacks. "Admit it! You turned because you had nothing! You sunk with those you led, and I –" he tackled her legs before she could manage another blow – "I just added to the mess. No big deal."

He tried staggering up, but she was on him again like a wolf clawing a deer. Romania's mind raced for his weapons.

 _I have pistols and blades, what am I wrestling around for? I've had it up to here!_  The Romanian sneaked an arm to one of his coat pockets, but he felt hands brush against his torso snatching something away. The frying pan landed on the ground with a clang, followed by the sound of two terrifying clicks –  _Oh, crap._  That was what she was after the whole time.

Romania felt her weight off him instantly. He did not need to look up to know what he had done. He had let her have them. Both of them. Both of his precious  _Dracula_  pistols.

He raised his hands to surrender, making no eye contact. No doubt Hungary aimed both pistols to his head. Weirdly, the first thing he worried about was his own blood staining the little hat on his head. It was a favourite hat.

Romania was running out of time to explain things. He feared that Hungary would unexpectedly pull the trigger from either hatred or panic. He felt useless to her now that she had everything she needed. Romania licked his lips and tasted the tang of blood.

Hungary let him stand up.  _So, she wants me to 'face-plant' in front of her after she pulls the trigger, eh?_ he thought.

The Hungarian snarled through gritted teeth, "Now I shall kick your ass! It's your own idiotic fault for not killing me."

Romania knew this was coming, but he did not anticipate the speed of the events. He was about to reply when a gun clicked, sending an icy shock in both their nerves. A familiar patrol stood behind Hungary with a rifle in hand dreadfully coursed to shoot the back of her cranium.

"You're outnumbered, Miss," said the man, signalling seven more comrades to gather around. Their loaded guns pointed at Hungary to admit defeat.

Romania smiled at the Hungarian. "What? You didn't expect me to have a contingency plan up my sleeve?" He showed off his sharp tooth to taunt Hungary even further; she was frozen on the spot, unwilling to lower her weapons. He looked over her and nodded at the patrol man. "Nice to see you again, Bob!"

Two more patrollers joined them, Romania was glad to see them all right. They gathered around his side and pointed their rifles at Hungary to surrender.

Hungary glanced at each of them feverishly; the frying pan reachable on the ground beside her and the two pistols held to their target. "I want out," she hissed.

"Is that you  _surrendering_  I hear?" sung Romania, taking off his hat and putting it away with a spin. Wary of the guns she held, Romania enthusiastically picked up the frying pan from where she stood and opened his hands for the pistols to be returned.

Narrowing her eyes at him, she yelled, "I am not surrendering, you asshat – !" Hungary clicked the pistols to his chest, her fingers about to curl in the trigger.

But before a shot was fired, the butt of a rifle struck the back of her skull. The startled Magyar wobbled, losing consciousness. Romania comically stepped aside, swiftly reclaiming his pistols. Out cold, Hungary crashed to the ground. Romania's patrol men gathered around their leader for further instructions.

Romania did not stir for a moment as his team waited. Something suddenly jolted inside the Nation - one of those moments when a personified Nation felt something eventful in their country. In Romania's case, he sensed another embodiment setting foot somewhere in his land.

Earlier, besides Hungary, he perceived it was Bulgaria he'd been tracking – though the inkling floundered. Just now and out of the blue, there was another player. And this one, he sensed, had traveled from miles away…

Diverting his mind-set, Romania looked around his camaraderie. He smiled at Bob who looked completely innocent with a rifle in hand. "Good job, Bob," laughed the Nation, "I seriously didn't know you had it in you!"

They reached the Arad train station in moments. The roof of each shelter and cabin, lining by the train station's railroads, were either burnt or wrecked by heavy rain. The railroad tracks looked descent, its metal material polished and in tact. The two trains parked were missing some wagons, but both were in stable condition. The whole station looked like the cluttered aftermath of a battleground, with a railroad cleared for two trains to squeeze through.

They placed Hungary's unconscious body under a demolished cabin's porch while Romania took a stroll by the rails to calm himself and examine every screw and bolt of the parked locomotives.

Bob approached him with a laudatory look. "Sir, nice of you to join us," he greeted, "but, what do you intend to –?"

"Bob, I think you can predict the answer to your own question, and yes, I do have sly intentions for the lady," Romania said brusquely.

"Sir?"

The Nation chortled. "I'm only joking." He motioned his men to one of the shelters near the station's railroad. "Tie her up in one of the abandoned houses there. Make sure she's unarmed and give me all her weapons, if she has any – Ha, ha! Bob, don't look at me like that. She's not my type. I told you before. We immensely hate each other. Trust me."

"Sir…um…I hope you remember that the men and I are deserting this station tonight," Bob informed. "We are leaving one driver for you…"

"What for, again?" Romania asked slightly concerned. He had forgotten some of his own plans.

"You'd said, we best pack up for the travel to Ukraine, sir," said the man. "We are the last patrol here to close this station and we're heading back home. I thought when we find you, you were going to join us, but apparently you've unfinished business to take care of. I believe your search is not over. So I ordered one of us to stay to drive the second train for you. We are going to take the other one to Cluj. For your friend, I don't think there will be anyone here to feed her if she's all tied up."

"Ah." Romania fingered his chin. He regretted not learning how to drive trains.  _Maybe the 'solo-patrollo' could teach me.._."Keep the men patrolling around Cluj – this time in a tighter circle. I suggest double-guarding. Oh, and I'd like to greet this train man, you speak of."

The patrol nodded and saying no further, he left to find the engineer. Romania coordinated the rest of his team to prepare for departure.

Only two trains had survived the Calamity, and they felt blessed that most of their railroads had remained. Both trains were a great value among his people and they made sure they guarded them closely. Keeping them orderly was a tedious task, especially when fuel was rare. The people of Romania protected the property, seeing it as their secret advantage over those without, whoever harassed it was immediately arrested or killed.

Bob acquainted the train engineer to Romania. Taking off his gas mask, the man looked like he was in his late sixties. He was dressed in humble patrol clothes and most of his hair thinned with age. He took a sad glimpse at the cabin where Hungary was tied up.

When the old man looked back at him, Romania saw deep concern written on his face. Suddenly, the Nation understood why. "You know her?"

The man shook his head. "No, sir…She just reminded me of…of my granddaughter, who –"

"The Calamity took away from you," Romania finished sympathetically. The Nation sincerely apologized for the loss and reassured him things would turn out. He really did not want to get personal nor did he want to rethink his past actions against Hungary.

In his mind, Romania had planned to continue his search for the two other embodiments without the Hungarian Nation. However, right after meeting the engineer, he figured Hungary should still accompany him, no matter their hatred. Things were different now. He still did not have to like her, but abandoning her was a little too cruel, even for him.

* * *

The next morning Switzerland woke up in terror. He was completely unarmed and someone had stolen half their – his – supplies. What enraged him even more was that his sister's suitcase was missing. Liechtenstein appeared from the stone door.  _No, no, no!_ He panicked.

Wide awake and looking at him, she was wearing her ruffled dress. She was not wearing the scarf and goggles anymore; on her hair was her bright violet ribbon, daintily tied on a tuft. Her face shone radiantly like the sun.

"You have to hurry, Vash!" Whirling away, she frantically jumped up and down to look over the trench. "Belgium's gone!"

Switzerland fumbled, a little disoriented, but he managed to get to his feet.  _Lili's not here anymore, don't you - don't I understand?!_ Eyes blurring, he sniffed.  _"_ Where are my weapons?" A truck engine started from above.

"Belgium stole them!"

"What?! Why?"  _Not here. Lili's no longer here._ Shakily, Switzerland felt his pockets and was relieved to find his multi-knife and a couple of grenades still with him.

Liechtenstein stood in front of him and pointed at her sketchbook that was oddly opened at the foot of the trench. "You have not looked through my sketches and I thank you for that. But there is a page that I wanted you to read for months..."

"Lili, I –"

"I am sorry to interrupt, dear brother, but I insist you read it. Please? For me?"

 _I will! I will! Just don't say it, Lili. Don't you dare!_ The Alpine busied packing up his blankets.  _I don't want to hear this! No, no, no!_

"Um…Mister Switzerland…?"

Switzerland braced himself and closed his eyes. "Don't – "

She smiled at him ethereally. "At this time please, may  _I_  stay behind…and  _you_  go?"

Switzerland felt his legs collapse to the ground. It was a collapse of complete exhaustion and failure. He was on his knees, burdened with the guilt and sacrifice he endured for his sister.  _All in vain?_

His country had prepared so much for this, but everything did not fall into place, it had fallen apart! Above all, the sliver of happiness –his beloved sister – was turning him insane! A horrible sinking feeling clawed inside him– it was just too much!

He had done all this and went all this way to protect Liechtenstein, but Nature had bested him from the very beginning.  _There had been no one there after all_ …

Switzerland had carried her things with him, because he couldn't bear to leave them behind. He'd inspected her health often throughout the journey only to neglect his own all along. All for naught. All from the very beginning of the End. The flashes. The boat. Her arrival. His solitude!

He remembered the boat that had sailed across the Rhine. It had arrived to him veiled with flowers and it was the one he had kept hidden from all eyes – the same boat he recently escaped with before destroying. Soon after his sister's funeral, he'd tried to erase her death from his memory. Then his mind crumbled from reality to despair.

She was his imagination – a denial that trailed him like a shadow. All this way. All this time.

His face coated with grey misery, hot tears of disbelief and agony streamed down his cheeks, each droplet staining the dusty ground. Switzerland found it hard to stand up or breathe. He could barely find a reason to. He had lost everything he truly cared about. His country. His sister.  _Nothing._  Nothing was there for him anymore. He was  _alone_. What was the point of even living anymore? There as nothing left for him to cherish.

A cold hand lifted his face and he glaciated. Switzerland was staring straight at Liechtenstein's youthful green eyes and spot-lit face, a flash of memories ravaged in him and his sibling smiled. "You promised me something last night. Remember?"

 _What…Belgium…?_ He pondered for a moment.

"I will tell you this, Mr. Vash Zwingli of Switzerland," she said, energetically leaping up the trench's mouth with no trouble. "Her brother is still alive!" Liechtenstein fixed her dress and peered over to him. Switzerland followed her, hastily taking any belongings left over, including his sister's book and his fragile radio.

"Lili, why did you not tell me all this time?" Switzerland miserably asked her, putting away the erratic radio in his pocket. He was still having a hard time comprehending everything that had happened, and it was also a deep challenge accepting it.

His sister embraced him in an icy hug. "It was not for  _me_  to tell," she said gently, untying the ribbon on her hair and placing it on his palm. "I guided you all this way, because you wanted me to. You kept thinking about me, so I kept appearing in your mind."

Switzerland tightened his fingers around the purple band. "I've gone insane…" muttered the Swiss, he randomly plucked out medicine from his pockets and threw them out to the dust. He supposed they were one of the causes for his confusing mind.

Liechtenstein giggled and turned him around to face the road ahead. It was indeed a very long way away, but he felt so incomplete without a sense of purpose – protecting his sister.

At that moment, Switzerland's eyes lit up. After tying Liechtenstein's ribbon around his wrist, he darted across the area and stopped to survey the campsite. He saw the two bodies that Belgium killed last night and there was a freshly marked yellow "X" on both of them from yellow spray paint. Odd. Belgium carried no such paints and she was not the type to disrespect the dead like this. Switzerland reckoned she had nothing to do with the vandalism. But then again, he had not expected her to run off with his things in the middle of the night either. The end of the world could make someone go crazy...

Aside the bodies, he found heavy boot tracks freshly imprinted in the soft grey mud. The ones near the truck's trails were Belgium's doing. However these ones by the vandalized bodies did not look like they were from any of the people last night. Though he could be wrong, he was certain that the new thick boot prints were from someone new. Someone else was here earlier…Someone had marked their spot.

He gave a worried glance at Liechtenstein, but she waved him goodbye. After an enduring exchange of painful silence, Switzerland finally dropped his gaze.

"It's all right, dear brother…" said his sibling. With a tender and loving smile, Liechtenstein drifted away in a flourishing breeze. Forever his beloved sisterly Nation departed from him.

Switzerland lingered there a little longer. "Thank you, Lili Vogel of Liechtenstein," he said solemnly. "You…you've taught me so much…and I'll never forget..."

Dry-eyed, the Nation thought about putting a cross on the spot for her grave. But it occurred to him that he had already buried her at his country. The secret funeral he had held and forgotten. Long ago. The world had blurred after that…

The Alpine quickly turned to sprint to across the land following the truck's wheel path. He would visit his sibling's grave again. He would return to his mountains and re-establish order. All this would be done right after Switzerland fulfilled a certain promise.

Maybe the other pair of siblings could help him.

* * *

_"Wake up, Elizaveta…"_

Hungary felt her wrists being nipped by tiny needles. Her arms were looped haphazardly behind her around a splintering wooden post, and an old, rough rope chafed at her ankles.

_"He's here…"_

The Nation's eyes fluttered blurrily as she strained to ease sore muscles and regain consciousness. "Austria?" Hungary mumbled through the rag around her mouth. Someone else's laughter echoed in the room instead of the Nation she called.

 _Oh great._ Hungary looked up and found Romania watching her by the door. They were in a dark cabin room, stray planks of wood and debris were scattered on the floor. The hearth was stone, cold and empty; the ceiling was gone. Hungary could see the night sky looming in and swallowing the daylight. The walls surrounding her were made of wood, but she felt the very chill of a stone cold breeze holding her in. Hungary felt trapped, weak, and vulnerable. Her mask was gone, her breathing hastened, and the ropes around her wrists and ankles constricted her as she struggled to free herself.

Growing impatient, she vigorously chewed against the filthy rag around her mouth until it loosened. She could talk, but she could not reach for the knots around her ankles, nor writhe her fingers free. Hungary spat, saliva and green fluid landing beside her. She didn't flinch from disgust at all.

"Nasty," voiced the Romanian across the room. "For someone who lived at Austria's house, you sure have lady-like manners."

"Shut it!" Hungary spat. "For someone who lived hating me for many years, you sure care about my manners!"

"No, I don't care," retorted the young man. "I just observe. You're acting weirder and weirder than usual. Not that you weren't like this before…I mean like weirder in a different way…cursed probably... "

Ignoring him, Hungary concentrated on her hands behind her back. They wove around the knots like they were needle and thread. She was certain that it was Austria who taught her how to do this, but somehow she kept remembering Prussia had something to do with this as well. Austria always had his hands tied up in Prussia's mess and she had always been there to help him out. Prussia had been the worst of her troubles back then, but now Romania took the center stage of her hate.

"Well, have fun going off on your own." Romania took his bag on his shoulder and hesitated by the porch. He looked like he was about to say something, but he changed his mind and vanished to the deserted street.

Hungary waited until his footsteps faded. She continued to wriggle her fingers free with hastening speed. Romania's abandonment was a little startling; she was disarmed and had no food to stay alive! Hungary wanted her frying pan again and his endless food supply – not to mention his additional safety.  _Ugh!_ Hungary hated to admit the fact that she was too vulnerable being alone in the dark. This feeling of vulnerability – it was something she was definitely not used to! She used to be feared by other nations for her temper!

Suddenly, there was a clang and a few mutterings followed by a start of an exhaust pipe. Outside, something sounded like a start of –  _a train?_   _Impossible!_ Hungary ferociously slipped her hands free from the ropes and untied her ankles. Her wrists oozed with crimson from the splintering ordeal, the specks of bruises along her arms concerned her. They were difficult to ignore as they left a pinching sensation that numbed, restricting her movements. Though for certain, her legs could still make a run for the moving train.

Bursting out of the cabin, she spotted Romania walking on the roof of a slow crawling train. As much as the wheels sluggishly lumbered along the rusty tracks, there was minimal squealing from the well-oiled machine. Its unpolished wagons were rusty, slightly burnt and dented. Its windows were either smashed or opened. Some of its wagons still had a roof – still strongly in tact for the Romanian Nation to imprudently walk on. The doors were all torn off from its hinges and the capsular engine dragged it forward to acceleration. The train's sides were slightly striped with blue, white and yellow, and titled  _Dacia Express_.

Hungary jumped to the nearest opening and climbed on, soundlessly as possible. She was deeply jealous of Romania all over again.  _Food, daggers, pistols, patrol men, and now, a_ train _!_  She groaned.  _Next thing I'll find is one of his castle-homes outstanding!_ The train slithered by a castle-like home sitting well on its foundations with little damage – Hungary swore under her breath.

Safe in the train, she fervently explored the passenger rooms and the empty quarters. One room had a couple of mattresses laid out to suffice as a sleeping area. The Calamity's fires burnt most of the train's fabrication, especially the outer walls, but the  _Dacia_ 's engine endured the heat.  _He's just a lucky bastard_ , Hungary thought bitterly.  _Unless there were other things in play here…_

The Nation listened closely above her head for Romania. He was still on the train's roof having the blithe of his life.  _Stupid asshat,_ she scowled _._   _Who is driving this train then?_

Hungary settled on one of the warm mattresses for a rest. After a while she stopped caring about where the train was going or who was driving. She would just wait for the stop and attempt to jump Romania for answers again. Hungary should try a new tactic though.  _ARGH! I shouldn't pursue this anymore,_ she reconsidered despairingly.  _It's not getting me anywhere! He's probably going to pull another trick up his sleeve!_ Brushing off hair from her face, _s_ he yielded to exhaustion.

Hungary curled up on the mattress, feeling the chill of the breezy travel. She felt inside her pockets for any signs of a poking syringe. Unfortunately, Romania stole that away from her, too. She was completely unarmed – the last reminder she had of her German allies was now with him. Hopefully he would not get too curious and inject the rest of it in his body, although, he would probably want an explanation from her first.

_What else does he want with me? To lose this game?_

Hungary had lost her people, and recently she's been losing arguments as well. She was up to her last strands of will and it was becoming hard to swallow the reality of the situation. Romania was winning with better advantage over her.

_He won the moment I woke up, didn't he? No…the moment when he buried me in the ditch was when he won…_

Sighing miserably, Hungary felt too drained of energy to shed any tears. Restraining her noisy cough was excruciating enough already. Throughout the whole dreamless night, she meditated and stared into nothing but a glimmer of light. The glimmer of hope.

" _The green stuff is working so well!" the little boy said._

After that single dream, it seemed that the little Gilbert had given her a clue that  _both_ of her allies were still around.

_"Just you and me…"_

Alive.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Suntem curioşi de agenda ta. (Romanian for: We are curious of your agenda.)


	6. A Tilted Cross Marks the Spot

_"We must not fear daylight just because it almost always illuminates a miserable world." - Rene Magritte (Belgian artist, 1898-1967)_

* * *

 

Switzerland had to stoop close to the earth to keep track of the truck as a thick, heavy fog descended upon him to mock his search. Fingering the grooves on the ground, he made sure he was still following the right way. There were no more trees or wreckage wherever he was, and he did not like where the truck was leading him. Open places were a disaster magnet.

 _Where is Belgium going?_  The thought tormented him.  _Taking Lili's things as well as my own meant she really wanted me to follow her._

Switzerland looked around for any dark blurs of the vehicle beyond the fog. He could barely see anything and the heat and stuffiness of the clouds did not help.

The grey sky did not give him an answer to the time of day, and his senses betrayed him until he stopped trusting his nose. Gradually as if the fog willed to suffocate him, breathing started becoming harder to do. He felt like he was walking through what seemed like a never ending expanse of fog; it was as maddening as his delusions.

If anything or anyone were to ambush him, he was prepared to kill on sight instinctively and defensibly. Although he had nothing but a pocketknife and a grenade, he could still fight close combat no matter how vulnerable or weak he was starting to get. Switzerland quickened his search. He had to find her before his health worsened.

Drawing attention would at least mean  _someone_ 's attention, whether it would be Belgium or an enemy, he planned to disarm the attacker and plunder their supplies. If one had a long range sniper of some sort, they would not be able to shoot through such a heavy fog, and the hot, stuffy air would disable any infra red devices, if there were any. So he had no worries on those sorts.

Almost tripping over, Switzerland found the tracks again. The grooves on the earth disappeared to a paved road and there was a sputter of an engine farther ahead. Belgium had probably stopped for a moment to confuse him. Either that, or she had lost her way, or the truck had simply expired. Or maybe his ears were just confusing him? Switzerland was not sure, but he supposed that Belgium was making the truck fizzle.

His ears strained for that single sound of rubber and metal. Through the dense smothering grey, there was the little start again and he ran straight for it, instantly.

Fortunately, the fog thinned and the outline of the truck took shape. One of its fore-front wheels was wedged in a sinkhole. By the half-hearted guttural revs, Switzerland knew it would probably never run again. The truck was jammed there forever.

Belgium did not poke any weapons over the vehicle's windows for cover, but something told Switzerland that she was well-armed and well aware of his approach.

He circled, whispering her name in case she might mistake. There was no movement in the truck and he edged closer, worriedly.

"You dare come any closer!" cried a voice, stopping Switzerland dead on his tracks. The sound echoed and bounced around the air like some kind of distorted nightmare. "Stay back or I'll shoot!"

Switzerland could not locate where she was. Maybe he was just hallucinating all over again? _Why is this so confusing, Lili? Where are you?_

"I'm sorry I took away your things," said Belgium; wherever she was. "You scared me with what happened to Liechtenstein! I figure maybe getting rid of the stuff would help –"

"Bel…?" Switzerland felt too dizzy to come up with a full reply. He heavily leaned against the truck, trying to steady himself; head throbbing, eyes drowsy and clouding.

Involuntarily, his palm swept something wet against the truck's metal door. Yellow paint. His misty eyes flickered to the spot where his hand swiped. There was an unfinished yellow 'X' freshly painted on the truck.  _What is this? Who's done this?_  Instead of gasping, his mouth let out a raspy noise.

"I know you're mad," Belgium continued, "but I swear I can make it up to you! I know where we are, and from here, I think there is a –"

"Bel! Did you…Where…? I can't – " Thick air snaked its way through his lungs, constricting his speech.

"Just listen! There are bunkers hidden somewhere near here! And I think there's an airbase a little farther north. If we could just get there on foot right now, before –"

"Belgium! I'm…I…" He searched for her but his head spun like a sudden turn of a wheel. The fog smelled terrible, it was rather intoxicating. His scarf did not help. Switzerland held on to the side of the truck –Belgium was no where. His lungs constricted. Maybe it was the rush of adrenaline from his run? Was he dehydrated?

 _Am I fainting? What?!_   _No, no, no! Not now!_

All of a sudden, his legs buckled and his senses fought to shut him down.

"…Switzerland?" A distance away, Belgium's figure emerged, a rifle in hand and a filtration mask covering her face.

"Oh Christ," Belgium gasped, and then immediately rushed up to him. "Don't breathe this in!"

Before she reached his side the ground embraced Switzerland coldly as a frigid snow would welcome a fallen soldier.  _"What have I done…?!"_  were the four words that followed him to deep unconsciousness…

* * *

A startling clamour made Hungary bolt up from her sleep. The moment her eyes settled on Romania's figure jumping in the quarters to join her, she stiffened. She expected the Nation to torment her or maybe scold her for sneaking in his train, but all he said was, "I knew you'd follow me, Magyar."

The moon was bright enough for her to see his silhouette, his dark eyes glinting with mischief. In a weird way, she was reminded of Prussia.

Too tired to confront him, Hungary rubbed her eyes and let her words do the fighting.

"You stole something I want back," she growled. "Give it back,  _Vlad_. Give. It. Back."

"Now I did say that's no longer my name." Romania approached her, he was holding something sharp.

"Jesus, just kill me already, you idiot!" Hungary loudly retorted. "You could have gotten rid of me a long time ago!"

Romania raised the sharp weapon over her and she waited for the strike, never letting her eyes stray from his glare.

His arm shook but lowered gently in front of her, fingers revealing the Immunity syringe. The needle still had all of its contents; Romania had not used a single drop. He situated himself before her like a child waiting for a bedtime story.

"Can't kill you yet," he said. "I'd look stupid doing so without proper reason – now explain this to me or I'll pull another prank on you."

Hungary shrank away. "I'm not telling you about it at all. You haven't said anything about this stupid train."

"Fair enough," Romania shrugged. "Forget it then." He deftly tossed the needle to her lap, stood up, and randomly tapped the train's wall with his knuckles. The sound rung throughout the whole wagon. "Honestly, Magyar, when I took that away from you I thought it was one of your  _womanly needs_  or something."

"What?!" Hungary was thrown off guard by the awkward comment. She quickly secured the syringe in one of her pockets.

The Romanian Nation tapped the wall again with a smug grin. "Ah, we'll be experiencing turbulence shortly," he exclaimed.

Hungary tucked her legs around her arms and waited for the road bumps to pass.

In her eyes, Romania was a poor country. In the couple of years before the Calamity struck, demolitions, extreme government issues and strikes had been reported in the news, and then when the stories had reached her she had only felt apathy.

 _He had lower standards of living, for cryin' out loud!_  her mind racked.  _How did he managed to keep his stupid rickety trains in tact and well-maintained?!_

Earlier, Romania had not fully explained his mode of transportation. He had left this out.  _So what else was he hiding?_  she pondered.

Hungary gave him a scrutinizing glance. "I thought you've only been traveling on foot across your stupid peasant country."

Romania ignored the insult. "Oh, I did for the most part," he replied, a tinge of boast to every word. "I just got lucky and found a couple of usable, crappy cars along the way."

A sudden jolt made the whole wagon shake violently that even Romania fumbled with his footing. Somehow despite the horribly decrepit railways, the train stayed on course and kept running. When Hungary resettled, she demanded for proper explanation with a commanding tone. "Explain the train!"

The Romanian leaned against the wall by the opening and contemptuously looked at her, an eyebrow raised. "It's about time you rhyme…"

Hungary tightened her fists. "I'M SERIOUS!"

After a long exhale, the Romanian Nation finally gave in. "I have two operational trains. They're docked in specific places for safety reasons. My men and I only use them when extremely necessary – actually my men were the only ones who've been using them. Ever since June, they had been used three times.  _Now_  would be the fourth and my second time riding.

"As for the tracks, most of our rails survived the wreckage but only a few remained in decent condition to travel on and only a couple of _that_  we've been maintaining. It's too dangerous to exploit the trains, especially when fuel is running low.

"We were able to modify the two trains under our current circumstances. You can say these burnt trains devolved back to the 'steam punk era' –well, that's what Britain would call it.

"They are the only ones we can still refuel…and…well… If you're gonna ask about the fuel, talk to the crappy cars everywhere. My patrol men found just enough fuel to supply up to certain distances. Everything is kept in secret in case we encounter anyone abusive. We like our secrecy. Our cautiousness keeps the trains to our hands and it keeps us from using them all the time. Got it?"

Though Romania silenced her with his explanation, her mind flourished with new ideas of another escape plan like a ringing noise of an alarm. _Enough to supply to certain distances, you say?_ Hungary repeated wistfully in her mind. Maybe the railroad to Austria remained stable. With enough fuel to travel, she could escape with this locomotive and drive westward. Then again, she would need a conductor because she hadn't had the tutelage to drive trains in the past…

With a fist Romania rhythmically knocked on the wall again. Hungary found his strangeness infuriating when all of a sudden, someone on the other side answered with their own knock echoing through. And just like that, the train slowly screeched to a halt.

Instead of jumping to her feet, Hungary edged to a corner. Romania glanced at her momentarily then turned his attention back to the landscape outside. "Magyar, I don't think you have a ticket for this train ride," he commented.

The  _Dacia_  halted to a stop and someone exited the engine room grumbling about a damaged railroad up ahead. "What's going on?" Hungary asked, heart racing. "Why did the train stop? Where are we?"

Romania twisted a corner of his mouth. "Let me guess, your next question is: why is the world not flat?"

A newcomer entered their wagon. He was an old man in his late-sixties who looked like another one of Romania's patrol men, but something was totally different about him. The person walked over to where Hungary stooped and he placed a plate of food before her with a kind-hearted nod and a faint smile.

"Watch it, Németh," Romania grinned, sounding like a puppeteer over the old man's actions. Arms crossed, he leaned against the wall by the opening and watched intently. "The lady's demented with a bad case of the mulligrubs, if you know what I mean. She lost her femininity and resorted to a hell load of gobbledegook!"

Drowning out the Romanian's amusement and hysterical laughter, Hungary stared at the old man before her, his face seemed uncannily familiar.

The old engineer grunted awkwardly. "Eat well, miss. You look like you haven't eaten in a while."

Hungary could not contain her gladness. The engineer was Hungarian! He looked healthy and he was Hungarian!

"I'm sorry for my rude staring," she said, smiling foolishly. "I just –"

"She hasn't seen an old man in a while," Romania interrupted.

Hungary glowered at the other Nation before he theatrically looked away showing a mockery of concern. "I was going to say," she returned to the old man, "that I haven't seen a fellow Hungarian in a while."

The engineer blinked at her warmly, putting on a happy, wrinkly smile.

Hungary turned her attention to the offered food, her stomach grumbled, and she hastily reached for the plate to feast. She devoured every morsel of bread to the very crumbs, drank all the soup from the bowl until it emptied, and gulped down the cup of water in mere minutes. When her energy returned, her mind sung of thoughts of well-fed and healthy Hungarians, aside from the cannibals...

After the meal, Hungary eagerly bombarded the man, named Illes Németh, with loads of chatter, as if she was catching up with someone she had never seen in years. She purposely disregarded the mood outside and blithered on about subjects like the food they missed, and dresses, flowers and shoes she wanted to wear again. For a personified Nation, there was a naturally good, familial feeling when they were among their people. Hungary had needed this badly.

When Romania pranced out of the room to leave them some privacy, Hungary freely shared her childhood stories and military adventures, obviously unrevealing her life as a Nation. The old man reluctantly shared his own tale and mentioned his daughter.

"I actually have something from her, Miss." He fished out a white lace from one of his pockets, wrapped inside was a simple red and green hair pin. "It's one o' those things she'd place on her hair and one of the only things I got as a reminder from 'er."

Eyes glazed with sadness, Hungary had nothing to really show the old man in return – she kept the syringe to her own business. After they comforted each other with condolences, their chat inevitably led to a peculiar subject.

"Miss, if you don't mind me askin'…" Illes scratched his grey stubble for the words. "Have you seen any of yer old friends, besides Master Anghelescu?"

Hungary laughed for a moment. "He's  _not_ my friend. And no, I haven't seen Roderich or the others, but I'm sure they're still alive."

"Sounds like strong lads. 'M sure they're fine…" Illes gave her a stern look, apparently more concerned for his leader than her lost friends. "Master Anghelescu is a kind man, young lady."

Biting her lower lip, Hungary forced a smile to herself.  _We tried murdering each other_ , she said in her mind.  _He's one of_  those _kinds, all right._

Illes chuckled, as if he had read her thoughts. "I used to have this sort of trouble with my daughter. Can't do nothin' 'bout it. Not my business." The old man stood up and turned to leave. "All I knows is this: y'hate someone 'cause ye see part of yourself in 'em. I think you two 've so much more 'n common than y'can see."

The idea of being similar in any way to Romania made Hungary's stomach turn unpleasantly. She did not want to explain herself to Illes, and as if by luck, their conversation abruptly ended right when Romania impatiently announced, "The sun is up!"

The Nation was outside the train with a heavy bag slung behind him; his mask was loose to speak. He randomly blathered on about how there was no sun shining brightly on the sky and that it was all a joke against the grey. Seeing Illes, he motioned for a word. Hungary gave Illes a warm hug before the old man left to talk to him.

Hungary did not gain much liking to Romania at all. Just because he was providing for some Hungarians it did not mean she would forget their hate. Still she despised him coldly. Whatever Illes and he were talking about was their business and she made little effort to pay attention. She managed to overhear a word about trees and trains in their conversation.

Illes vanished to the train's engine wagon and Hungary was about to join him when Romania stopped her.

"He's safely guarding the train, Magyar," said the Nation. "You can come back to him once we walk a couple of miles from here and that'll take an hour or so."

Silently, she abided and they started southward through a burnt line of trees.

Along the way an unexpected guilty feeling rose in the Hungarian Nation. She realized that Romania had wanted her to follow him to the train and find out about Illes. Did he want her to know something by herself? Was he keeping other Magyars safely somewhere? And most of all, why did he want to help her at all?

Hungary wanted to keep quiet but she wanted to know the reasons. "I didn't know you'd saved some of my people," she mumbled, trying to hide a tinge of remorse.

"Magyar." The other Nation snapped, facing her with a tilted brow. "Listen, the guy back there just so happened to be Hungarian. Before the Calamity there were already bunches of  _your_  folk at  _my_  place because they just like  _me_ more than  _you_. Understand that there is this thin line of tolerance I have for you, so don't EVER think things are different between us."

"There are more survivors?" Hungary glowed, her eyes rounded with optimism. "So you did save more of my people from –!"

" _Some_!" Romania responded uncomfortably. "I managed to save  _some_. Don't get all –"

"And you've been taking care of them!"

"They took care of themselves! I only showed the way. Big deal. I don't care."

Hungary smiled tearfully at the news. Although she felt thankful for Romania's generosity, their grudge towards each other was still strong. Instead of outwardly thanking him, she kept her lips shut and hid a conniving sparkle in her eyes.

Time ticked for a couple of hours until Hungary finally insisted on knowing where they were. Perhaps if Romania gave her a map or direct answers she would not be so demanding.

She coughed out fluids again until Romania replaced her respiring mask. She put it on with plenty of complaints as usual, but her main concern remained to be about where they were heading.

Romania merrily replied, "In my side of the mountains!"

"Stop it," barked Hungary.

The Romanian just chuckled at this. "Now, if you're going to ask a bunch of questions, ask questions that don't have predictable answers."

"Well, I want predictable answers to understand what's going on!"

"In a way, that doesn't make any sense," Romania stated, a little annoyed. "You're confusing me, Magyar."

Hungary thought for a moment longer then she turned the tables of her questioning. She remembered his droll earlier in the train and said, "Okay. So, why  _is_  the world not flat?"

Recollecting himself, Romania happily replied with a skip in his step. "Because the world isn't flat or else there'll be an end to it! The world is round and an endless spin, Magyar. If ever you get lost along the way, you reappear on the other side!

"For example, I'm heading further south from Craiova right now to find something, and if ever the world was flat, I will fall off the edge and thus, my journey ends. I will never find this something. Forever lost.

"See, the world was made round because this way we could keep turning. Round and round it goes with many directions to turn to and as for me," – he glanced at her for a moment – "I keep going."

Hungary rolled her eyes.  _So to get to his answers I have to ask stupid questions_ , she thought. "Interesting. To tick your brain I have to sink to stupidity."

Romania frowned. " _Prostii!_ You tick me off just fine as yourself already. No need to sink that low. Though, I'm flattered you wish to impress me."

"Excuse me?!"

"You're excused, Magyar."

Hungary bit back her tongue. Inside she fumed and urged to beat him up to death again – but the main thing that continued to stop her was his control over almost everything she needed.  _Under the circumstances, I will try not to kill him_ , she tamed her mind.  _To hell with this._

At last, after an hour through the dead forest of black-chalked trees, they reached a muddy, sopping ravine.

"He's around here somewhere," said the Romanian, opening his bag and pulling out a first-aid kit.

Unconcerned at first, Hungary got curious of who Romania was tracking. She wanted to bother him again for an answer, but she raised no question to avoid another silly argument. Whoever he was looking for, she hoped to find Austria, Germany, Poland or even Prussia. But to find any of her allies this far south seemed unlikely. Romania must be sensing Bulgaria...

The two Nations stalked along the lumpy banks, searching for any signs of life; from ragged cloth pieces to boot tracks if any. Behind Romania, Hungary secretly concocted an ideal assault against him yet again. This time she would not really kill him, just knock him unconscious, take his things and escape westward with the help of Illes. She also planned to retake the frying pan.  _If he still has it with him._

As Hungary reevaluated her scheme over and over to keep her mind occupied, she suddenly bumped against Romania's intercepting arm.

He halted on the spot and hushed her like a child. Hungary smacked his arm away and followed his gaze.

A little further away from them was a figure of a man, slouching against a charred tree. His chest rose and fell and it was a sign that he was alive. His clothes were drenched and his pants were ripped on one side showing a fresh gapping wound across his left leg. The man's face was shadowed underneath a dark hood, and from a distance Hungary spotted a glint of a blade at the palm of his hand.

Romania randomly felt around his coat before he cautiously approached him. He muttered a friendly greeting with one hand raised and the other, placed to his side.

Hungary scowled at Romania's silly behaviour – he looked like he was about to recite an anthem rather than approach a possibly dangerous human. The stranger lifted his face to reveal his identity and Hungary could not tell if it was Bulgaria or –

"Turkey?!" she gasped at the sight of a familiar tan face.

Sure enough, it was Sadık Anan, the personified Nation of Turkey under the hood, and naturally his white mask hid jovial green eyes.

"Hey…yer Romania?" The Turkish Nation did not notice her. Before Romania had a second to say something, Turkey suddenly reached for Romania's arm and unexpectedly pulled him down to the blade of his dagger. It swiftly pierced through the Romanian's left side sounding a crunch.

It was so sudden that Hungary ran up to them, yelling, "Stop!"  _How do I explain this to Illes?_

Staggering back, Romania prodded the blade's hilt painfully with his fingers. "Nice to see you too, crap," sputtered the Romanian, apparently directing the statement to Turkey and the inanimate object stuck to his torso. When Hungary joined his side he randomly wiped a bloodied glove against her shoulder. Upset with the lunacy, she shoved him sideways and kept her distance.

Turkey coughed out blood onto his already filthy sleeve and leaned back. "Yeh, sorry," he said despairingly with a quivering smile. "That's that, I think…I could take on another one o' you! I wanna steal yer stuff and all..."

Turkey turned his attention to Hungary who glared at both of them with spite. "Yo," he called to her, barely able to lift up his arm to point. "Ye gotta have somethin' to eat and drink, right? Gimme some or I'll…I'll make you!"

Hungary wanted to knock some sense in Turkey. He was either delusional or turning mad. "Sadık we're here to help – but you just stabbed – "

Turkey absently looked at her straight in the eye. "Help…? Hungary? Hey it's you! Heck,  _I_  don't need help." The Turk nodded to Romania's direction. " _He_  needs help, doesn't he?"

Hungary turned to where the Romanian Nation stood. His side looked like it earned a fatal wound with the dagger's hilt protruding out of it. But the wound was barely oozing with blood through his coat.

Romania choked on his own laughter. Something slid down his coat the moment he pulled out the blade from his side. It was a thin wooden chunk sandwiched between two small pieces of metal and two kitchen sponges, wrapped up in rubber bands and bloodied from the ordeal.

Romania picked up the brick-looking device and stuck it on the dagger's bladed end. Grinning at the Turkish Nation, he waved it around like a bloody marshmallow on a stick, but it looked more like a sharp unappetizing shish kabob.

"I knew I'd find you here," he crowed, "and I've learned a thing or two from the past. That was one of the most likely spots you could strike me." Stylishly, Romania disposed the chunk from the blade and bowed, tipping his hat to them. With an over-animated voice like a television commentator he said, "Ladies and Not-so-gentle-Magyars, I had just demonstrated to you how to disarm the 'sick man of Europe'."

Turkey groaned at the statement. "Awe c'mon! Don't remind me!"

Hungary coughed. "Sadık, anymore weapons I should know about?"

The Turk smiled and shook his head in an unconvincing manner.

"If you don't yield," the Romanian interjected with a threat, standing over Turkey like a vulture. "Care to meet my  _Draculas_? I've got two, so that's double the bite, if you know what I mean."

"Okay, okay!" Turkey surrendered, wincing. He shamefully raised his arms to show them he had no other weapons in hand. "Yo, no touchy though! My body's hurtin'…" he whined as Romania searched him with little concern.

Turkey seemed fragile, like a withering leaf being crumpled under a jester's foot. "I'm achin'," he said, feeling slightly harassed. "Could ye at least be a lil' tender and – ouch!"

Romania stole away the Turk's satchel.

"Hey, hey! Not cool, dude!" Turkey protested. "I've got my manly things in there!"

Hungary wanted to beat up the Romanian on Turkey's behalf, but Romania simply walked away flourishing a Dracula pistol, in case Hungary might attack him for the satchel.

Giving up, Turkey sat back wounded, and made no more effort to retake his things. The Nation sighed wistfully, as if ascending to another world. Hungary wondered what was going on beneath his milky white mask.

In the past, she rivaled with the man for some years, now seeing his body at this state – soaked to the bone and muddied by the water's edge – concerned her. Hungary recalled the time they had danced together at the last World Meeting. She started praying he would relight that wonderful energy again. It was not the same seeing him like this and under these circumstances.

She kneeled beside the fallen Nation and closely examined his wounded leg. Glistening with blood, the linear gash still looked fresh.

"What?" he panted, after she gave him a nervous look. "I tripped…'long the way…not sure…can't get up by myself though…"

Hungary noticed something else was terribly wrong with him. "Turkey, you're not all right," she deadpanned.

If something was internally excruciating, maybe she could find out reading the poking nerves along his arm. She was no nurse or doctor, like other Nations, but she had some practice in the past wars. She could recall the one time she had patched up Austria…

Hungary folded Turkey's sleeve to check on the condition of his skin and she was appalled by the sight. Running down his flesh was a layer of partially burnt skin.

"Please, tell me you're only burnt on this arm." Hungary panicked when he winced.

Turkey reassured her that he was only burnt on the left half of his body. "I was burnt trying to save a buncha guys I found along the way…" He smiled. "It's healin' and peelin' though…not very appealin'…"

"Turkey, what else happened?" Hungary fixed him up to a sitting position, at least to prevent back sores.

The man tightened his lips. "I almost drowned this morning." He flinched. "I'm just recovering slowly, that's all. I'll be fine once I get going…seriously. I had…nice stroll…country burned…dude, walked all this way."

Romania reappeared into view with a stick in hand, Turkey's satchel slung around him. His side was still stained with blood but he did not seem fazed by the tainting red against his coat. With an unusual skip in his step and devious look on his face, he told her he was so close to finding something nearby –  _or did he say someone?_

Worried for Turkey's health, Hungary informed the Romanian of his skin condition on his left arm. However, all Romania did was twist the corner of his mouth and walk up to her saying, "So what's left is a roasted Turkey, huh? Looks to me he's  _all right._ "

"This is serious!" Hungary gritted her teeth. She was about to assault him again when he suddenly displayed a baffled look.

"Stupid Magyar," he said with a touch of boredom in his voice. "Why don't you help me lug this pitiful turkey dinner out of his puddle, instead of just posing there staring dramatically at the ravine? Don't be so useless."

"You're unbearable!" yelled Hungary, taking Turkey's left arm as Romania took his right.

Romania laughed and he could not resist another pun. "I know my  _bearings_  more than you, at the moment."

That made Hungary swear to the brink of mad fury. Refraining from any more fuss, she contained her anger for Turkey's sake.

With the Turk's body weighing on their shoulders, Hungary flinched away from Romania's helping arm the moment he accidentally bumped hers. She did not like this so-seemed 'teamwork' but it had to be done. She felt the need to help Turkey and in order to do so, Romania had to be involved.

Hungary was not worried about Romania's own injury, since she would not mind it if he actually bled to death on the spot. His approach to the Turk was all planned out to make Turkey surrender his weapons and pretty much everything to him.

Hungary found Turkey's satchel by Romania's far side. She could not even reach for it, then again the Turk did not seem to care; he seemed tired and sleepy.

 _Romania's a jerk_ , she thought. Their insidious anger was still there, threatening to boil over any moment; no matter how many times Romania provided food, directions and whatever the hell he gave her, she still hated him.

 _Illes said this stupid Nation and I had something in common,_  Hungary speculated.  _'Common ground' is a bridge in a relationship, right?_

_There's no bridge between us at all, silly Illes, couldn't he tell? I should have told him – I'll tell him when we meet again._

_There is no bridge between us. If there was I'd break it. I'd burn it._

* * *

"You really did not think this through," said the Swiss Nation, exercising his limbs to reassure nothing was broken. He had just woken up after three days of recovering from toxic inhalation and according to Belgium, the climate outside their shelter turned for the worse. Apparently on the second day while he was recovering, it rained a rather potent acid.

Three days ago, Belgium had made sure all of their things were safely hidden before Switzerland had managed to find her. She informed him of the few military bunkers located within a couple of miles from where the truck broke down. Belgium admitted that she had made a mistake leaving him with no gas mask for the intended pursuit, and after he had fainted she had to drag his body into one of the bunkers. She said she had plundered the other shelters and found no one alive. There was an isolated airbase nearby that she desired to explore later.

Luckily, the fog had not been dense enough to be lethal. Rest and fresh air were one of the only cures she knew for the toxins to leave the body's system, in this case anyway.

Belgium handed Switzerland a towel to wipe his face and a small ration of food for him to feast upon.

"I did mention you were a lunatic then," she claimed with a cheerful smile. "Any sane person would obviously run away from you at all costs with all that ghostly talk. Disarming you was for safety precautions. You really ought to–"

"You had no right to steal my things!" Switzerland shouted. Regaining his strength, he searched their bundle of artillery for his rifles.  _I was depressed!_ the young man thought angrily.  _I was in denial! I didn't loose my mind!_

"Belgium, taking away my things did not solve anything but –" Switzerland stopped himself indignantly. Reviewing the closure he had with Liechtenstein, he sighed. Belgium patiently waited for him to continue yet all he said was, "Forget it! _"_

"I'm truly sorry…" Belgium concealed her distraught with a neutral tone. "I'll understand if you won't forgive me." She handed him a new set of clothes and Switzerland roughly took them from her. He removed his green military suit to replace the inside shirt with the ones Belgium supplied.

"There's nothing you can do now," he murmured.

Belgium stood up. "Well, aside from the airbase…" She scurried to look for something in one of their packs. "Let me show you what else I found. It'll brighten your spirits in a literal sense," –she pulled out a bottle of wine from one of the bags – "and it's something exquisite to drink away the sorrows. If you reach cloud nine after a few gulps, who knows what other ghosts you'll be seeing in –"

"I'm fine!" Switzerland snapped, getting to his feet. "That's one reason to becoming a lunatic in  _your_  case." He pushed away the bottle and regarded the shirt she gave him. As he undressed from his old sweaty tank top for the new white one, he felt the Belgian watching him with a curious eye.

He shot her a stern glare and she quickly looked away, blushing pink with embarrassment.  _She's annoying_ , thought Switzerland, putting on the new shirt.  _She reminds me of Spain and France put together in one._

 _I should ask her about those yellow 'X' marks on the corpses and the truck_ , he pondered for a moment. But he was still upset from earlier; her mistakes had cost him three days travel. And not only that, Belgium's daring actions slightly bothered his ego. He figured the subject of the yellow marks could wait, at least for the time being; he felt a little better knowing something more the Belgian. But perhaps she already knew about them?

"I don't understand why and how you're so happy-go-lucky when we're in this hell hole," he said, impatiently buttoning up his green suit like it was a frustrating piece of floppy material on top of a crinkly white t-shirt. Then he wondered where Belgium had even found this shirt. Actually, he wondered where she found the wine bottle too.

Belgium put on a smile on her face, like what he said was a joke. "What's wrong with me being so 'happy-go-lucky'?"

"After all that had happened!" roared Switzerland, making the other Nation cringe. "The disasters?! The world?! Lili?! I don't get why or what you're so happy about! Look around! We're in HELL right now! You think you have everything under control? Well be more considerate and don't foolishly flaunt it all over the place because not everyone is feeling carefree at the moment!"

"Do you think I – ?"

"Everything does not always end well!" he strained. "Raising hopes would just make things worse! I've given enough hopeful views to the men and women I left behind. I told them everything will be all right but you know what happened? They killed each other – Death!" Switzerland brushed away a tuft of hair falling to his face; his fingers lingered on his forehead. "Utter chaos followed when their hopes were…were crushed. Destroyed. I abandoned them because I hope for something and…and it's just…IT'S JUST ANNOYING to keep ranting about it!"

Belgium opened her mouth to say something but there were no words.

Switzerland's voice shook. "Everything does not always end well, Belgium. I'm sorry."

Mouth quivering, Belgium's eyes watered with pain and she blinked away a tear of realization. It was obvious she missed her own brother. Switzerland suddenly felt shame in the pit of his stomach, and when he quietly apologized again, it felt like hours before she acknowledged.

"I forgive you, Vash," Belgium said tightly, putting away the wine bottle for another time. "But have patience. I've had my share of madness, but I don't  _lose_ it like you do."

The Alpine watched her make way to the ladder for the bunker's opening. "You're lucky I'm used to blunt men," Belgium tersely commented along the way. She was about to go outside to do a perimeter check when Switzerland stopped her. "Bel, wait!"

Confused, she turned to him.

"Let's just get out of here," Switzerland directed. He seized his smaller weapons and strapped on his boots. Putting on his black coat, he hurried to her side plaguing her with more instructions.

"First of all we travel during day," he said. "We travel light to not waste time and strength. Germany should sense us around here by now since we are in his territory. Maybe even Prussia is wandering around looking for people. And I am willing to help you find your brother, Bel."

Belgium seemed baffled. "Vash –"

"Let's head out now to save time," he interjected with authority. "I climb out first and so long as –"

"Vash! I'm not Liechtenstein," cried Belgium. "Don't start treating me like how you'd treat her!"

Switzerland fumbled for his gloves, his words were distant. "I…I'm sorry. I forgot." _Lili was never here,_ he mulled over _._

As the Alpine absentmindedly packed up their things, he spotted something shadowed in the dark. His heart pounded in his chest at the sight of something that frightened him.

Amidst their pile of belongings was Liechtenstein's suitcase, neatly laid sitting under a shadow with her sketchbook unopened on top. He had almost forgotten to take time to read it.

Seeing what struck him, Belgium approached him, a little reluctant to bother his arrested state. "Do you need a moment alone, Alps?" she asked gently.

Switzerland had so many of those lone moments before but looking back now, misery wrote over them in blood red ink. He cleared his throat. "On second thought, I think I'll just stay in here for a little while," he said, "I want to read…" Before he realized what he was doing, his hands picked up the sketchbook.

He sat by Liechtenstein's suitcase and waited for his drifting hands to open the pages. Belgium appeared by his side with a flashlight and Switzerland looked at her at a loss of words.

She shrugged nonchalantly. "I'm shedding some light on this subject."

Switzerland nodded awkwardly. Staring at the book, he took a deep breath, felt its wrinkled, hard-pressed cover and finally opened it.

Through Liechtenstein's drawings, he found a couple of pages with his own sketches and instantly he was reminded of the time she had made him draw animal pictures for her after a lesson. In the next page she had sketches of flowers and a shaky doodle of Austria which made him smile. He remembered the first time his sister had encountered Austria at the supermarket and the day ended with a satisfying tea party. The memory of the Austrian Nation made him wonder if he was still alive.

Switzerland recalled the last time the Austrian had made contact with him, and that was unfortunately, the first day of the Calamity. Their phone line had cut off before Austria could finish his urgent messages. Switzerland wondered if that had beentheir last conversation together.

Turning the page, he found Liechtenstein's will, dated on the event of the first recorded flash of the Calamity. It had been formally written by hand and glued on the sketchbook's page – stapled behind it was another letter. The first aspect of the will was personally for her country's re-establishment and the last paragraph briefly stated her possessions to be passed unto him. Her handwriting in the final couple of sentences trailed to mere inkblots, until she had not even finish signing her name. Switzerland lingered on the last muddled words of his sister's will. "Big brother, I hope my passing will not burden…" it read.

Switzerland shakily let out a long sigh. He kept reminding himself that he was reading this for closure, not misery – he was  _not_  going to soak up with tears again.

Out of the blue, he heard a whimper beside him. Belgium quickly excused herself and left him with the flashlight.

"I should go get ready," she said, sniffling. "We're leaving soon."

She took her things and climbed out of the bunker for some air. When the door slammed shut behind her, Switzerland turned over the will to the next letter, his stoic composure shaking.

This one was a lettercard, torn at the end with its last pieces gone. Switzerland remembered the moment he had scrapped this card but he did not expect Liechtenstein to have had treasured it all this time. Maybe it had held sentimental value to her.

Taped on its corner was a piece of pink fabric that he knew all too well was from Liechtenstein's first gift, those many, many years ago. It was a piece of the awkward, pink frilly pajamas she had given him. Switzerland had simply outgrown them, and when he had them donated, it seemed she had snipped a little remnant to cherish...

Glossy-eyed, Switzerland could not shake away the memory that repeated in his mind like a beating pulse. He raised the torn lettercard closer to the flashlight to read every word, once more:

_Dear Big Brother,_

_I'm always grateful for what you do._

_Thank you very much for buying a ribbon for me today._

_It made me very happy._

_This gift is something that I've been secretly sewing every night._

_I hope you like it –_

Switzerland remembered. Laced around his wrist was the bright-purple ribbon he had given his beloved sister a long, long time ago.

The Nation grimly fished out a lighter from one of his packs and lit a flame. The memory stayed in his mind and the words he had said then, resounded like a haunting song.  _She didn't have to_ , he had said.  _Silly girl…_

The Alpine watched the flame scorch the pages of his sister's sketchbook.

_She didn't have to._

Switzerland exited the bunker with all of his things and closed the door behind him. He left behind a fire to engulf the last of Liechtenstein's belongings, but two: the velvet around his wrist and her will she had left for him.

_Closure._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prostii! (Romanian for Nonsense!)


	7. Divided

Romania was annoyed. He was just flat out annoyed.

Hungary was at arm's length and the Turk hung over them like a heavy yoke. As they furthered away from the train station, Hungary protested incessantly to return to Illes and also argued for Turkey's condition. In the meanwhile, Turkey lazily staggered in between them, too tired to further complain and too interested with Romania and Hungary's bickering.

Surprisingly aside from mentioning Illes, Hungary did not blurt anything about a train station to Turkey yet, and after minutes of deliberation and complaints, Romania agreed to stop and patch up the Turk. Hungary bandaged his wounds after applying medicine from Romania's first-aid kit. Romania on the other hand felt no concern for Turkey whatsoever, and the moment the man was ready to move on again Romania led them further down the ravine.

He insisted on continuing his search for Bulgaria whether the other two liked it or not. He refused to return to the station without his find.

Suddenly a nauseating wave of dizziness interrupted his thoughts. Immersed in his mission, he had disregarded the wound in his side. Unchecked, it was slowly oozing out more and more of his blood. The wound was small, thanks to his so-called brick-blade-stopper, but it had been dripping red on his coat, leaving behind a slithering blood stain.  _They can't kill me_ , Romania reassured himself, wincing from the cut.  _Either of them can't get rid of me that easily_.

Eventually they stopped for him. Soon after he hurriedly bandaged his injury they were on the trail again, Romania as focused as ever to finding his friend. The two other Nations struggled to cope with his navigational directions, which seemingly made no sense at times. When Turkey wanted to stop and rest, Romania wandered around frenetically to see if Bulgaria was anywhere nearby.

"Ouch!" Turkey faltered when they plowed him onwards again. "Watch it, Hungary!"

" _You_ didn't?!" Hungary eased her pace and turned a cheek. "Sorry Sadık, it must be your leg," she said tiredly with a weak smile. "Does your burn marks still hurt, though? You haven't complained about your left arm."

Romania suspected some silent allegiance between them, so he questioned her, "Since when have  _you_  started caring for  _this_ guy?"

"Burnt marks are doin' fine," Turkey muttered, "thanks to the ointments and bandages ye put on 'em…"

Hungary scowled at Romania. "Since when have  _you_  started caring for what and who  _I've_ been caring about?"

Romania gave her a sideways glance.  _They're in cahoots,_  he concluded.

"Dammit, for Sultan's sake Romania!" whined Turkey. "Could ye at least tell us where in hell we're going and who the heck we're lookin' for? I oughta know this! I'mma limpin' here for ya! At least – at least slow down and tell!"

Romania neither slowed his pace, nor did he give a straight answer. As usual.

 _It's none of their business,_  he thought.  _Though unfortunately, under the current circumstances…_

"Everything is everyone's business, recently,"Romania sighed. "Too bad I'm not sharing everything." Smiling, he led them on, ignoring whatever questions Turkey was asking.

At one point Turkey begged to know about his lost friends, Greece and Japan – and Romania heard something about Cyprus, but he shrugged off every question and every name the Turk put out. When Turkey asked him what he was planning to do after they find who else he was looking for, he remained ominously silent, unwilling to reveal any more of his secrets.

 _It wouldn't be a called a_ hidden _agenda, would it?_ Romania pondered in jest.

All of a sudden, Hungary smacked him in the back of the head to pay attention. He instantly got quite irritated to the point of yelling, "Magyar, quit doing that or I will feed you to fucking wolves!"

Hungary egged the topic to her favour. "I've named damned dogs in my country after you."

"You're too kind," Romania mumbled. "You did not have to hit my head to start a conversation."

"You should meet my pet  _Alex_  the German Shepherd."

"Love to."

Turkey naively joined in saying, "He pants!"

Romania shot him a look. "I'm sure?"

"His b*tch's a pure-bred Hungarian!"

"Turkey, are you saying this  _Alex_  she owns mated with a Hungarian dog?"

"Excuse me?!" Hungary gaped.

Turkey grinned at them. "Alex, meet Eliza!"

At the same time, Romania and Hungary dropped the Turk. Disgusted by the insult, they walked away in opposite directions leaving Turkey to writhe on the ground in a combination of mirth and agony, coughing and laughing at the same time. Romania did not find the insult humorous, or sarcastic. Actually he did not know where to categorize the doggy joke in his list of remarks – how unique it was that it had made fun of both him and Hungary. It was quite clever.

After a fit of humour, Turkey finally apologized and called them back with a pleading voice. Romania hesitated, but when he saw Hungary reluctantly pick up the Turk and forgive him, he followed.

Romania did not look at her when he slung Turkey's arm around his shoulders again. It was not that her insults had not bothered him before; it just felt strange hearing one a little too hurtful after the moment with Illes.

Quaintly, he brought up his deed to maybe make her feel some regret or at least feel sorry for –

"DON'T you dare talk about Illes and the people you saved," Hungary snapped, avoiding his gaze. "I still loathe you. Nothing's changed between you and me, just because of a few favors."

Romania snorted contemptuously at this. Well, he did not really expect an apology from her, more like an 'oops-I'll-tone-down-the-insults-for-a-little-bit'. But then again, he felt a tinge of gladness that nothing had changed between them.  _That was at least a remaining constant in this ever shifting world of gloom,_ Romania said in his mind.

At the end of the afternoon, he started feeling bored along the way; he could hardly consider his companions conversation-worthy. Actually, he had had enough of the two that he started thinking about getting rid of them completely.

 _I do know of a spell to cast them away from the face of the earth_ , he mused. And yet the two Nations, as much as he deeply hated to admit, would really be useful back home in Cluj.  _I'll just have to put up with them for…oh, for a hell of a while…_

The three Nations chose an eerie spot to settle for the evening. They were in the middle of what used to be some sort of a National Park south of his country at the banks of the Danube. Boulders had built an island in the midst of a murky body of water.

The water was shallow enough to wade, and it did not appear to be radiated or polluted with toxins. The marsh-like expanse surrounded three-quarters of the boulder island; a dirt trail conveniently bridged them to it. Romania thought it best to camp at the boulders since it was easily guarded by the marsh, like a protective moat around a castle. He even quoted how the cannibals were dim-witted enough to clumsily approach through the water. He said they would make enough sound before they could even reach the island.

It was not hard to camp on the island – the boulders were set up like a pyramid. Romania settled at the lowest rock while his two 'happy-go-evil' companions desired the highest flat ones at its peak. Anyway, Romania had insisted Turkey to be at the very top most boulders to keep – and protect – the Turk from any strenuous activity below since he was injured.

"If there's any danger, I'll face it with magic," Romania grinned.

Hungary did not argue at all, she actually smiled at the thought of him being killed first. After another coughing fit, the Hungarian climbed up the rocks to join Turkey with a load of goods stolen from Romania's pack.

Within moments, night fell and their only light source was a completely unreliable moon. None of them felt bothered – they were much more worried about what a mere candlelight might attract.

At the foot of the boulder, Romania laughed when he overheard a couple of petty complaints coming from the Nations above him. Hungary complained about the food – of course she commented on everything Romanian-related, even the moon, strangely enough, relating it to Romanian witchcraft.

"Ugh!" she spat. "I don't like this." She looked over to where Romania sat below and called, "You and your cabbage rations are revolting. What happened to the canned-soups?"

Leaning against the cold rock face, Romania hesitantly looked up at her with tired eyes. "Last time I checked you were a Hungry-Hungary. Not a Picky-Bitc –" he broke off to yawn. "Y'know what I mean."

Hungary threw a fruit peel to his head. " _Romani_ , you sicken me."

"Is it working?" Romania felt belittled by the name 'Romani'. "Let's see, a  _sick_  man of Europe and now a  _sick_  dog," the Nation chuckled, brushing off the peel from his hair. "Somebody's contagious and I wonder if it's me."

"I'd rather be back at the train station!" cried the Magyar.

At this, Turkey suddenly hollered, "Say what?!"

 _Oh, yeah._ Romania massaged his temple. No one mentioned anything about the trains to Turkey; they had only said something about a station, but even then, Turkey had not paid any attention. Before Romania could illustrate, Hungary filled in all she knew for the Turk; from the new map of Europe, to the trains and to Romania's goal on traveling to Ukraine.

 _Oh, yeah..._  Romania smiled. He had left out other bits and pieces of details; Hungary and Turkey were only informed of what he had told them so far.  _Not everything,_ he thought, reminded of the boats and the Cluj cave…

Turkey laid one hand on his bandaged leg, while the other shoveled loaves of bread to his mouth. He excited over their plans to go to Ukraine and hoped to find more Nations along the way, yet out of all that explosive information, Turkey questioned the trains.

"So ye got freakin' trains and ye don't brag about it?" The Turk's voice carried so much disbelief, it sounded scornful. Romania covered his ears and turned away; unfortunately, he could still hear the sounds of ridicule.

"How is  _that_ even possible?" Turkey chewed and swallowed the bread in his mouth. "The whole place turned damned after the 'quake! Railways don't frickin' survive that shit! Ye couldn't even do stuff before and yer rails survived?!"

Crumbs sprinkled on Romania as the Turk ranted on about how the Romanian economy was not as good as his. Hungary also joined in, babbling on about Romania's strange ways and even explored the subject of his magical nonsense. In the conversation, Hungary certainly did not leave out any insulting jokes.

The Romanian remained silent, leaning against the boulder and staring distantly into space, ignorant of the jargon above him. What else could he do? Both of his rivals were most likely scheming against him, and he was out of retorts for the night against their hurtful comments.

He was sick of it and he still questioned himself why on earth he was still caring for them at all. Slaving away to their needs was awful. Why did he still provide for them?  _Hell of a while,_ he contemplated. _Hell of a while it's gonna be…_

Throughout the whole night, Romania was sure he felt Bulgaria nearby numerous times. He paid close attention to every sound, alert with each passing second. Oddly, the feeling flashed, like a pulsing light. A pulsing heartbeat.

There would be Bulgaria – then no. Then there he may be…another inkling sensation. Then nothing. Then there! Then no. Then there! Then suddenly, just like before, it would slowly fade away and disappear again. Like a ghost.

 _Creepy but cool_ , thought Romania. Or maybe he was being fooled? Romania clawed his hair in frustration.  _Where's a tracking spell or a GPS when you need one? I hope he's okay. What am I saying? Of course he is! He's alive! He's just around the corner…Alive…Pulsing…_

The Nation tucked himself between his bag and Turkey's satchel, which was clearly forgotten about by its owner. Curious, he peered inside and rummaged through Turkey's things. He found a couple of empty bottles of  _raki,_ wrapped green food –which he secretly disposed into the marsh before the Turk could smell it– and a box of tiles with numbers on them. 'Okey' it was labeled. Romania closed the bag. So Turkey was trying to keep sane with a game of Okey?

 _Hilarious,_ he wondered, and yet deep down he thought it was a great idea _. To keep rational sense with nonsense, of course!_

Turkey and Hungary above him settled down their taunting and finally rested on the blankets – which Hungary had stolen from his bag, and which he had provided considerately for the travel. Lifting his mask to breathe and too sleepy to keep watch, Romania drifted into a light nap.

 _Maybe Turkey will keep an eye out,_ he figured. _Well, whatever…Bulgaria's around…no cannibals in these parts…water here…_

When he closed his eyes, Romania dreamed about Cluj's buildings and his man-made cave. After listening to the other Nations' disbelief, Romania's ego felt slightly bruised. They had done this to him before, what was so different now? Right. The world ended.

Romania tossed to one side.  _Well, they were wrong about one thing,_  he thought. Not all of him survived and they did not know everything that had really happened. Despite being glad that many of his people did survive, he still felt pangs of remorse whenever he would remember the many who had died. He simply didn't show it- he didn't need to give them  _another_  reason to taunt him.

He was lucky enough to have saved some things. Some bits and pieces…

Then again, he had depressingly lost a large population of people and a portion of his landmass. He had shown them a map of the damaged areas but he left out the details of the state he was in. Not that they would care about him anyway. Still.

The eastern coastal parts and the southernmost towns of his country were either submerged in water or zoned to uninhabitable. But even with half of him gone, he made it this far in descent shape. He traveled for hours on end, treasured his railways, kept his boats hidden and….and made it this far. So far…

Romania slowly blinked his eyes open. He could not stop feeling like there was something far worse yet to happen to him. Not that he was afraid.

He quickly brushed the grim thoughts aside with a comical notion.  _Maybe the reason why I'm still here is to raise my cavemen, ha, ha!_ He smiled to himself, reminded of the families waiting for him back in the caves.

_O să revin mereu, Nadia…_

Time passed slowly that night, Romania tried sleeping but his mind kept him wide awake. It was far past midnight when he overheard Hungary and Turkey starting a whispery conversation above him. He could not see them but he strained his ears to listen. Their little chat was about nightmares and not being able to sleep. Oh and no surprise, some parts of their discussion was about him.

"Turkey, I don't know what else he's up to, but I know that jerk took us out here to find his boyfriend."

"He's dancin' 'round to catch Bulgaria's attention..." he heard Turkey reply. A heavy pause followed before he spoke again. "Hungary, is Bulgaria still alive?"

 _Of course he is, you Frickin'-Gobbling-Piece-of-Poultry!_ Romania wanted to burst, but he refrained and continued his sleeping pretense.

"Turkey, I…I don't know. But if we're still out here tracking someone, I believe it  _is_  that Bulgarian running around alive."

The Turk's response was silence, and then a thought suddenly struck Romania when there were no words spoken for a moment.  _Is Bulgaria still alive?_

He realized he had totally overlooked something. Bulgaria should have actually encountered Turkey first, before he and Hungary did. If Turkey had trekked across Bulgaria's turf to get to Romania's land, the Nation should have sensed a trespasser crossing his country and therefore approach him. Unless things happened…

Shuddering, Romania reassured himself Turkey had traveled through water, so sensing the Turk could have been difficult for Bulgaria.

Romania heard Turkey release a long, shaky exhale. "I prob'ly should tell ye how ye found me at the ravine, then," began the Turk. "I guess it's about time anyway." Turkey turned his voice low and Romania listened to every word.

"I found Egypt before the flashes hit. The guy's preparations weren't as intense – he and I…we suffered badly. He was really wounded with more burns than I. Turns out, he was on his way to my place before the unexpected happened. Good thing we sorta found each other at Istanbul.

"I figured maybe Greece, Japan or even Cyprus would show up too, and find us. So…we stayed a while longer…Lot o' stuff burnt. Egypt was…well…he was really hurt – I tried my best, dammit! There was not enough frickin' ointments and shit lyin' around t' help!"

Turkey swallowed. "Cyprus showed up, but Egypt didn't – didn't make it."

Romania heard Hungary mutter an apology followed by a hopeful note on Cyprus being alive, but Turkey just went on, every word sounded like a heavy breath.

"Cyprus… I was overjoyed when I found him, yeah. He invited me to leave everythin' behind t'head west for America and all, but I refused his invitation. Heh. I suggested we find Greece first. And ya…Cype followed me 'round to look for the guy. We didn't expect the land t' be so diff'rent. So we ended up takin' detours and longer paths to get across and into Bulgaria. Couldn't find a good boat, nor make one out of the burnt trees and debris."

Turkey stopped to sniffle. Romania's mind pounded.  _Bulgaria_ _should have encountered Turkey first!_

"Turkey..." Hungary murmured cautiously as if Turkey would break by the very question. "Is Cyprus…?"

"Cyprus," echoed Turkey, his voice sounded thin and hollow. "I lost sight of him at a trade post south from here…I think he just wen' astray, 'tis all. But I know I'll find 'im around. He's probably lost. Now I'm out here, lookin' for both Greece and Cyprus and maybe find Japan too." Turkey shuffled and it sounded like he was preparing to rest. "Then I find you, hell and Romania," he finished with a deep sigh.

"I heard my naaaame…" Romania interrupted sleepily.

"This is none of your concern!" the Hungarian shooed.

Before Romania could retaliate, he instantly sensed something appear nearby. The suddenness frightened him. He bolted up to his feet and rigidly posed to fight. He blinked his eyes wide open to what emerged from the shadows. He supposed the 'thing' he sensed wanted to strike while they were too distracted to notice. Behind him, Hungary and Turkey were shocked at a vaguely familiar silhouette looming a distance away.

"Funny how life plays, Ro," enticed the shadow, moonlight cascaded faintly on one side of his face. Romania felt the wind off his lungs the moment he recognized the intruder.

Perched on one of the boulders with a spear in hand, was the Nation he had searched for all this time. He could not help but blindly run towards him, crying out his name.

"Bulgaria!"

* * *

The bunker burned inside. Red and yellow flames lit the night before it was engulfed by black smoke. Darkness again. From a distance, Switzerland watched the scene through the lens of his filtration mask which Belgium had supplied.

He regretted burning Liechtenstein's things like this. It felt like he disposed her a little too abruptly, but he also felt he had to finally move on. Somehow, regrets just kept piling up on his shoulders. He yearned for redemption.

Switzerland looked around for Belgium. Furious from what he had done to the bunker and Liechtenstein's belongings, she had left him to go to the deserted airbase a little ways from here.

"HOW COULD YOU?" she had yelled, the moment he had shut the door behind him before the fire. He had not looked at her, nor answered her. All he did was trudge to a nearby cliff to watch the flames.

He could hardly see anything in front of him now. He blamed the mask, though he knew his tears were the reasons that blurred everything.

Switzerland slung his bag behind him and journeyed to this airbase she mentioned.  _If she keeps disappearing on me like this_ , thought the Swiss Nation,  _I will seriously lecture her, like I would –_

Switzerland stopped himself. He was not going to be reminded of Liech – No. No, no.

Dawn greeted him when he reached the deserted aerodrome. He felt drowsy and exhausted, and the place reeked with leaking gasoline and decay, that it was unpleasant enough to hold him wide awake.

Large airplanes had crumbled on the side of the runway; some were burnt and destroyed to no use. The large terminal building was nothing more, but mere diagonal pieces of metal and wood. The airstrip was lightly damaged, thank goodness, and on the opposite end of the field, stood a wide hangar filled with what looked like small planes.

He found Belgium exploring the remains of a large passenger plane across the terminal.

" _Guten morgen!_ " she beamed, taking off her mask. "And  _bonjour!_ "

Belgium smiled at him with light in her eyes. It seemed like the earlier events were forgotten, but he could still picture the burning flames of the bunker, engraved in his mind; his sister's things swallowed in fire…

"What will it be, Vash? German or French or…? Um. Never mind." Belgium awkwardly dropped the matter, sensing his gloomy mood. "You could take off your mask here," she suggested. "The air's all right. Just stuffy. But not as stuffy as breathing through a mask, trust me."

Switzerland tightened his lips. He would rather keep his mask on until his eyes would clear up, and he would rather hide his glumness for the time being.

The other Nation looked around; her gaze shifted to the wide hangar. "Um…We should go look in one of those," she said slowly. "I found us enough fuel to spare and maybe we could find a ride?"

Switzerland made no reply. He kept his head low and avoided Belgium's gaze as she reluctantly led the way across the airstrip. Belgium said a few things along the way, but his mind was just too preoccupied to listen intently. He acknowledged her concern with slight nods and grunts. That was all.

The hangar was too brilliant to ignore, though. Switzerland looked up and marveled at its suspiciously glorious condition. The supports were well maintained, like someone had rebuilt it after the Calamity. The roof was still intact and inside the planes were arranged as if someone was –

_Klunk!_

Belgium heard it too. "Vash, hurry!" She had her rifle at a ready with one hand, her other motioned him to duck under the nearest plane wing. Switzerland had seriously forgotten to ready his gun. Even with almost all of his ammunitions on him, he felt unprepared and quite spaced out. He fumbled, sloppily readying his gun with haste, though his mind was still full of thoughts of Li –

"Switzerland, focus!" Belgium pulled him behind a red plane wing. They were well hidden from whatever was making the noise.

It emanated from the opposite opening of the hangar. There were a couple of footsteps and muffled words exchanged along with the familiar:  _Klunk, klunk!_ Then suddenly a  _Phooooooooosh!_

Whoever was making the noise, it sounded like they were using something made of metal cylinders like… _cans?_

Spray cans. Switzerland scrambled to load his rifle before taking off his mask. He had to see this for himself. Creeping low and ignoring Belgium's protests, he stalked through the planes and materials to the other hangar entry. He peered over a tool shelf by a metal broken door and the moment he saw the perpetrators of the noises, he aimed his rifle straight at them.

The three figures were cloaked in the colours black and white; their hooded sweaters were the typical loose, cheap brand and their white pants were splashed with yellow paint, mud and dirt. The three hoodlums had a belt load of yellow aerosol cans for graffiti. They were wearing cheap masks that only covered their nose and mouths, like the ones used for combating disease, or by a doctor during surgery, or in their case, filtering the smell of intoxicating paints. They had black painted swim goggles on, which actually made them look silly rather than sinister. They looked like they were from a stealthy vandalizing gang; two were in their late teens and one looked only fourteen years of age.

Switzerland shifted over for a closer look. He heard Belgium starting to move her way to his position, but when she was close, he left his spot and decided to reveal himself to the hoodlums, his rifle, still pointing straight at them.

"No one move or I shoot," threatened the Alpine. The youngest of the hoodlums, spraying the wall, dropped his can and held up his arms. The other two hesitantly followed, their hands raised to surrender. Switzerland was surprised that they did not appear to be armed with anything. Then again, their baggy sweatshirts could house a number of lethal weapons, so he kept his gun pointed at them in any case.

He walked over to view what they were painting. Yellow Xs were done all over the hangar door along with a sketch of a...a yellow bird?

Lowering his rifle, Switzerland felt his mouth part in shock, and then he glanced at the hoodlums. Suddenly, the youngest boy frantically threw an empty spray can at him – thinking it would knock him out. When it pitifully missed, the boy ran for it, leaving behind his two brothers at a surprised stand still. The youth nimbly climbed over the airport fence and escaped into the wasteland.

In front of the two remaining hoodlums, Switzerland dropped his weapon, saying, "I mean you no harm." But the two hoodlums quickly exchanged glances and sped off to their friend's direction. Switzerland ran after them.

Breathing hard, he yelled desperately for their attention back. "STOP! I know Gilbert Bielshmidt! Tell him – tell him we're alive! Tell Gilbert –!"

The two hoodlums leapt over the fencing, and vanished into a yard of wreckage before they could hear another word out of him. Switzerland slammed his fists against the metal coils.

"Tell him, we're here…"

The Alpine listened to their footsteps fading away as they hurdled through obstacles in the midst of wreckage. He should have pursued them, but it would have been tiring with the bulk of weapons he carried. Switzerland slowly headed back to the hangar and found Belgium viewing the vandalized wall like it was a piece of art.

He joined her, still avoiding her eyes. They stood there, staring at the graffiti of crosses, 'X's and little Gilbird-like birds scattered all over the wall. Belgium excitedly pointed out a little statement at the corner by the hoodlums' signatures. " _Lang lebe Preußen_!" it said.

Switzerland smiled faintly with relief. Prussia was alive after all, and he was somewhere around here, making kids run around painting his name all over the place. But –

"This does not make sense," Switzerland finally spoke, after a long moment of staring at the wall. "If Prussia's around, shouldn't he have approached us? We are in his territory."

Belgium picked up Switzerland's rifle and handed it to him. "I don't remember Prussia making any sense," laughed the Belgian Nation. "I'm not even sure why he's letting kids run around like this. They were unarmed and who knows what else is lurking around here that might hurt them.

"You're right, though. We  _are_  in German turf and if Gilbert or Ludwig are still around they should've located us by now, or at least have sensed our presence here. Especially mine, since I've been here longer than you," Belgium claimed before striding back to the arrangement of planes inside the hangar.

"If none of them had sensed us by now," she wondered, "then that could also mean that they are probably not even  _in_  their country to begin with."

"These writings could mean something else," Switzerland grimaced. "To pay tribute, or to vandalize the abandoned, or to terrorize the claimed. We still don't know."

Belgium worriedly looked at him. Then he finally told her about the markings on the two bodies from the campsite and the one painted on the truck at the fog where he fainted. It was all too random and none of them seemed to line up or connect with each other. It felt as if the hoodlums were trying to lead them astray.

Belgium questioned no further. Switzerland followed her to a small red aircraft with a propeller and they prepared their leave.

He helped Belgium carry jugs of aviation gasoline from one of the crumbling passenger planes outside, to their chosen aircraft. They spent the whole morning fueling the plane, testing out the propeller and engine, and finally loading its hollowed carrier with their things.

Switzerland was slightly impressed by Belgium's choice. The little red plane was in far better shape than the rest – those had large dents, crusty seats, burnt wheels, malfunctioning throttles, broken controls, damaged ailerons, melted levers, or loose screws in the engines, but Belgium's choice was a miracle.

By noon, after they had rebuilt the rest of the airstrip with flat metal and wood planks, they ate lunch. Soon after, they uncovered a helmet and a headset which they fixed up for the flight. The headset was useless, Switzerland argued, but Belgium desired to use it for the fun of wearing one even if there was not enough electricity in supply.

The mere mention of electricity concerned Switzerland. According to Belgium the plane's engine would function with enough fuel and it had had enough operational electricity to manage a long flight to the coast. "It's no electric car, but it's got some juice to take us north," assured the Belgian. "There should be lots of people there who could help us. I could land us to a pit stop, if you like."

Belgium tested the engine a couple more times before lumbering the little aircraft carefully through the hangar. Switzerland stood grounded on the airstrip, unfolding his map as Belgium pulled the plane to the open runway. She turned it off and peered over to him.

Standing on her seat, Belgium opened the cockpit's glass casing and exclaimed, "I think this whole thing has Prussia written all over it! He must have had something to do with keeping this place in tact!" The Nation turned to the hangar and opened her arms wide as if to embrace the whole building of little planes at once. "For that, I give an air hug!"

Switzerland looked up from his crinkly map. "We should hurry if we're going to find more Nations," grunted the Alpine, meeting Belgium's eye contact after a day of avoidance.

The emerald hope in her eyes made him think of his sister all over again, and it pained him. He saw the heartache in the Belgian too, before she slumped in the pilot's seat, and hid her face. Switzerland supposed the minor scold had reminded her of the brother she dearly missed.

He put away his map and tuned on his radio – one of the only things in his bag he had kept from the fire.  _They weren't Liechtenstein's,_  he thought with assurance.  _I had left behind Liechtenstein's things…_

He checked his radio for any communication signals, but it only hummed. He asked Belgium for her opinion if it may be broken, but she was extremely surprised it was actually working. Switzerland countered her and claimed it had weird fluctuations and interferences before. Those silly buzzes had told him it worked. Now it was just humming monotonously, and it seemed like it had ceased functioning. No frequencies interjecting whatsoever.

"It must be the – um…" Belgium wanted to bring something up, but he knew what she was going to say.

"No. This thing does not read paranormal activity, Bel." He put away the radio and ended the subject. Climbing in the back seat of the plane's cockpit behind the Belgian, he insisted on carrying two of his rifles by his side, along with a few pocket-sized weapons.

Belgium laughed. "Well, I guess they will be useful when we hunt the livestock in the air!"

Switzerland scowled. "You were going to say something about pigs flying, right?"

The other Nation smiled, blushing. "Spain made that joke once –" she froze, absentmindedly resting a finger on one of the panel switches in front of her. She took a long moment to take in what she had just said.

Switzerland fiddled with his seat-belt and waited for Belgium to start. Clearly, he did not know what to say when she mentioned her old friend's name so all he did was lie back in his seat in silence.

They planned to leave the airstrip during nightfall to prevent intruders from seeing their take off in daylight; though they hoped the hoodlums would show up before they leave.  _Passing the time will get really awkward when it's just going to be conversations about long lost friends_ , thought the Alpine Nation. The topic was unavoidable, but nightfall was hastily approaching anyway, so maybe he did not need to worry about any awkward conversations if –

"Do you think they're okay?" Belgium asked. She sounded so distant from her usual cheerfulness, it took Switzerland by surprise. She did not turn to him when she continued. "Italy, Spain, and Romano, I mean...Do you think they're all right?"

Switzerland searched for a quick answer, feeling uneasy about this. "Bel, right now, I know nothing. I was hoping you'd tell me."

Belgium did not stir.

Troubled, Switzerland leaned forward to the back of her seat. "Sorry, but I was isolated in my own country for the longest time. I know only what there is to know from who I meet."

Belgium made an impatient noise. "So, you  _don't_  think they're all right."

"It's Italy, for crying out loud!" scoffed the Alpine. He was more concerned of other things at the moment; his country, for example.

He heard Belgium let out a chuckle. "You seriously know what to say." The Nation faced him with a spark in her eyes. "You know what – you're right! They must be fine. The Italian brothers have the Spaniard who endured a whole lot of hell before this! They're in good hands! I know Spain better than most."

Switzerland rolled his eyes. "Spain's endured a lot of failures before this."

"You  _seriously_  know what to say," Belgium laughed, day dreaming about her Spanish friend. Switzerland groaned and impatiently reminded her of their scheduled flight.

Shadows lengthened behind jutting pieces of wreckage as the light of the sun began to set. Belgium listed all the things brought on board and Switzerland rechecked and secured everything around his seat; gas masks, bandages, canned rations, his black scarf, his rifles and other essentials. They were set to leave with a press of a finger but Belgium was still hesitant.

She wheeled around to face him again. "Can I ask you something?"

In the back of his mind, Switzerland could guess what she was going to inquire. Annoyed by her many questions, he looked out of the cockpit, his hand feeling the violet ribbon laced around his left wrist. He could feel the Belgian eyeing him.

"What happened, Vash? What happened to you?"

Switzerland remained silent, his expression unchanging. Belgium slowly reached out her hand to the ribbon tied around his wrist. Switzerland quickly flinched away from her fingers like they were ice cold knives. He glared at her, eyes rounded and wild.

"MIND YOUR OWN BUSINESS!" he yelled with outright indignation. "You've seen me delusional already! What more do you WANT?"

"I just want to understand –"

"She DIED okay?" Switzerland clenched his fists, they shook with every word. "I left everything behind! Let's leave it at that!" Their eyes met suddenly, and he blinked. Belgium looked tired and frail – something he had seen before in Liechtenstein.

A week ago when he had found Belgium, she had a healthy look to her face, glowing in contrast to the bleak grey around her. Now she looked worn out, faking a smile on her lips, blending with everything else.

The spirit in the Belgian vanished when she turned away, rejected. Frustrated with himself, Switzerland rubbed the back of his head with both hands. He had no clue what to think. He felt confused. He did not want to share. Times were getting harder and sharing stories would not make any difference to the situation. It was only making him more and more upset.

He could handle his burdens and she should keep to her own! He wondered why she was concerned for him when he showed little care for her! Switzerland crossed his arms and begged in a strained voice behind clenched teeth. "Let's just hurry up and get out of here."

But Belgium did not move; she seemed to be meditating in deep thought.

Suffocated by the heavy uncomfortable silence hindering the cockpit, Switzerland ventured out of the plane to patrol. So far nothing was disturbed or out of place and it looked like the hoodlums were not going to return. In the process, he decided to keep one of the empty graffiti cans they left behind in case they would run into them again.

When he returned to the cockpit, Belgium pushed a strand of hair behind her ear. Switzerland turned on the flashlight, feeling the heavy, awkward silence again. He grouchily did anything to keep himself distracted; fiddled with gun barrels; folded blankets; stole a sip from the bottle of wine; played with the ribbon around his wrist –

"I haven't told you my side of the story," he heard Belgium mutter. At first, he wondered why she was sharing her story, but then he realized after, she really wanted to hear his in exchange.

She did not turn to look at him, but Switzerland sat back in his seat, oddly waiting for her to continue. He could see her face reflected on the glass, her eyes were closed and her mouth parted to begin her side of the whole story.

"I was looking for Netherlands after the flashes..."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> O să revin mereu, Nadia (Romanian for 'I will always return, Nadia' **)
> 
> Raki (a popular Turkish alcoholic drink)
> 
> Okey (a tile-based traditional game popular in Turkey, played with two to four players; not only played in homes but also in coffee houses)
> 
> Guten morgen! (German for 'Good Morning!')
> 
> Bonjour! (French for 'Hello!')
> 
> Lang lebe Preußen! (German for: LONG LIVE PRUSSIA!)
> 
> Belgium has a German minority; not only is she fluent in Dutch, Flemish, and French, I believe she could also speak, Italian, Spanish and of course, German, considering the visible populations in her country. :) The same way as how Hungary and Romania could understand each other's languages. As for Switzerland, he knows German, Italian and French, but I'll have him speak English here. I don't believe there is a Swiss language - everything is sort of a blend.
> 
> **I honestly did not know there was a famous Romanian gymnast named, Nadia Comăneci. She was awarded perfect tens in the Olympics when she was only 14 years old. Had I known of this I would have mentioned it earlier; the coincidence was rather interesting.


	8. Tainted Ally

_"You can't trust people, but you can always trust nature." - Dr. Ili Gidov (Bulgarian Writer and Scholar, 1968)_

* * *

 

Rain drops pounded against the window sill repeatedly in staccato rhythm. It was a grey, drizzly morning and Hungary was looking outside the window, her hands hugging her torso. She was in a beautiful silk white dress of lace and beads, her hair wrapped tightly on her head in a flattering bun with curls. An edelweiss flower, freshly picked from Austria's garden was pinned to her hair like a tiara would on a princess.

"What am I doing here," she said, fire and discomfort glazed her words. She intended them for the little young boy, cloaked in a ghostly white tunic of a Teutonic Knight. "This is why I'd prefer not sleeping so deeply."

On the other side of the window, little Gilbert gleamed brightly, ignoring her sour attitude. He floated closer to the pane and as he did, walls appeared around the window frame, and once more Hungary was in the familiar mansion. In a  _dream_  once again. Why?

 _"Not a dream, Liz!"_  nagged the child. He was listening to every thought in her mind.  _This is another dream so of course he's in my head,_  thought Hungary, face-palming. Couldn't she just sleep in peace? Was this a memory within a dream? It's annoying.

 _"Well, sorry to bother you, right now,"_ puffed Gilbert, " _but I think there is something you should know!"_ The little boy stepped aside to reveal the downpour and the garden.

It was raining and she felt foolish staring at nothing but the rippling puddles and watered plants. All of a sudden a stout man wearing a bowler hat strode across the pebbled stones, a black umbrella in one hand and a briefcase in the other. He was in a hurry to leave, his pointy shoes enduring the heavy rain.

"I assure you it will be safe, doctor!" cried a familiar voice racing towards him. The voice called the stout man – apparently the doctor – to stop, but he did not slow a single step.

Hungary's eyes darted to the voice he was afraid of. She gaped at the sight of Austria; drenched in the rain, hair and coat soaking wet, his glasses dripping with water.

"I just need more time," Austria sputtered, quickly stopping the doctor by the shoulder, "If you may!"

The doctor made no further resistance, grumbling under his graying mustache, he said, "M' sorry, Edelstein, but – can't work with you any longer! This' gone – far enough! – wish to resign from such project, now allow me – take my leave!" The doctor's voice turned raspy. At that instant he was cut off by a hacking noise deep beneath his throat, and then he excused himself to cough.

Austria stood before him; he did not step aside nor move away from the shuddering doctor, umbrella waved at his face.

The doctor steadied. Though his throat was clogged, he still struggled to speak. "Edelstein, whatever you did –whatever you're doin'–will not solve – 'nything! There should be – a report on you –'m calling the police force –" he hacked, another fit of coughs plagued his sentences. He searched for a handkerchief in his pockets, but his hands faltered, dropping the umbrella.

Rain washed away blood and colour. His face paled from seeing his own blood adorning his hands like finger paint, slowly dripping to the pavement below. Knees giving out, he dropped his suitcase to cover his mouth. Austria remained standing, watching the man sadistically.

"I wonder if you know _I_  am the authority figure around here," said the Nation-being.

The doctor tried getting up. "I –report you –soon as –leave this country!"

His words were curdled with the fluids in his throat. Hungary could see his chest heaving for air. He turned away from the Austrian and crawled for the garden gate, but he halted.

"No –" The doctor clutched his stomach and made a horrifying, bubbling noise. He curled.

Austria remained standing. Watching. Not minding the rain…

"M' children –at home –" the doctor coughed, holding his stomach with both hands now. A waterfall of blood ran out of his mouth as he turned to Austria who was just staring straight at him with a look of pure apathy.

The doctor collapsed to the ground. "Save them – at least –" He gurgled one more time before the rain drowned the blood and the words.

Austria stood in front him, frozen in time. Clearing his throat, he raised a hand and motioned for servants to clear away the body.

Hungary did not expect to see a couple of men instantly appearing out of nowhere wearing blood-stained, white aprons. They looked like butchers from a slaughterhouse, and it seemed like they were prepared for this.  _Oh Austria,_ she shuddered,  _what have you done?_

The Austrian stonily walked over to the doctor's lifeless body; the mouth oozed with blood so red and thick. His servants quickly dragged it away to the back of the mansion, and Austria lingered by the dead man's suitcase and umbrella.

The rain pelted against his shoulders, and yet he didn't care. Not wiping his glasses, he adjusted them and picked up the umbrella to shut it closed. His eyes fell on the doctor's suitcase and hesitantly he opened it. Inside were two rectangular boxes.

"So he was trying to steal these." He opened each box and found a syringe in both. Its contents glow was a familiar luminescent blue-green.

"Either he wanted to report these to the authorities, or use these for his own sake." Austria sighed. "Unfortunately, he was heading for two dead ends." The Nation stood up, suitcase in hand and umbrella hanging on one arm. " _I_  am the authority and…

_"The Immunity only works on our kind, not on normal beings."_

Hungary gasped – then suddenly she heard a knock on the door. She wheeled around and sighted Austria smiling at her with clean, swept-back hair, dressed in his dark-blue suit. His handsome, indigo eyes greeted her with gladness. He did not look like he came from the heavy rain outside. If he did, it would have been impossible to dry off in a split second.

Confused, Hungary glanced back at the window, only to find it burning brightly with sunlight. The little Gilbert phased through the wall happily, his countenance glowing with delight. Hungary noticed her dress changed to her military uniform in a mere blink. She assumed this was a memory change.

 _"Well,_ " sighed little Gilbert, his bare feet touched the ground next to her. " _The first part was seriously not a memory. This is like last time, how I awesomely showed you stupid Austria talking to himself, you know? This one, right now, is a memory."_

Before Hungary could acknowledge the Prussian, she was suddenly pulled into the memory in a heartbeat, unable to interact with the ghostly boy. Embracing Austria they left the mansion and entered the driveway. She felt like a slave forced into the past.

Waiting on the driveway was a black limousine. Gilbert faintly appeared sitting on the hood with a faint smile. _"It's been two weeks after Austria's frickin' crime!"_

Hungary tried to look at him, but the forces of the dream prevented her from turning her head. She was doing what she did in the moment – everything felt like a rewind and a repeat, with her as the puppet being steered along.

Austria opened the door for her to get in the limo. Inside she was greeted with familiar faces that almost blurred her vision to tears. The limo seated Italy, Spain, Romano, Switzerland, Liechtenstein, Poland, France, Britain, America, Canada, Germany and Prussia – the little ghostly Gilbert appearing beside him obviously. Everyone looked like they were heading to an exciting affair and Hungary could only act under the will of the dream.

" _Helló mindenki!_ " she smiled, caught up in the moment. " _Jó reggelt!_ " Deep inside she wanted to weep; the memory was just too much to bear. Why was the ghost showing her this? Why was she forced to be reminded of this? The memory tugged at her heartstrings.

Hungary seated herself beside Poland, across Prussia and Germany.

"Like, good morning too, Lizzy! So glad to see you!" greeted Poland, hugging her. "We should totally catch up, like, after this! Seriously, my preparations have been, like, taking up so much of my schedule!" Meanwhile, Italy sprang up to welcome her, almost bumping his head against the limo's roof.

"Good morning, Miss Hungary!" he grinned, hazel eyes sparkling with gladness. "Guess who's serving pasta for everybody at the buffet today, ve?"

"And like, I'm serving  _pierogi!_ " added Poland.

"Guys, you're making me hungry!" America laughed.

Germany snorted. "Settle down, the limo's starting to leave."

Austria settled beside Hungary and shut the door. "Japan, China and Russia are in the other limos. They're traveling with their families."

"They might be arriving late," Germany informed.

As the limo eased out of the driveway, America hollered, "Who wants to PARTEY?" The Nation held up two bottles of wine.

Beside him, France gingerly took out two silver trays from one of the compartments. Canada helped him fill each tray with wine glasses.

America had the pleasure of pouring each glass with the blood-red drink. "Ahahaha! Cranberry juice!"

"Well, I provided the wine myself,  _mes amis_ ," said France, "and these are the finest of the – Hey! Don't pour them so unevenly, silly American!"

"Dude, I can't help it, the limo's shaking!"

"Why serve those  _now_ , anyway?" Britain questioned with an eye roll.

France and America almost replied at the same time.

"For a Wine Paartehey!"

"You're just a jealous Englishman, ohoho!"

Britain sighed, taking a glass from the silver trays Canada passed around. "Just, try not to spill it all over yourselves," he noted, taking a sip.

When the tray of drinks circled around the Nations, Hungary could not help but notice each and every one's expression. Switzerland reluctantly took one, and Liechtenstein accepted one as well, surprising him; Poland stole his share; Spain served one for a grouchy Romano and one for himself; Italy could not resist but take two for him and the German saying, "Ve! I got this one for you, Germany!" and with that, Germany attempted to smile; Austria mannerly offered her a glass before taking his own; Prussia raised a glass to Hungary, thinking she was looking at him – she was actually staring at the Gilbert ghost sitting on his lap.  _Stupid_   _Prueßen_ , she thought, glancing away from both Prussians.

"Three cheers, guys!" America announced, holding up his wine. "I give toast first!"

"This better be awesome," Prussia muttered.

"Well, we have some time until we get there," said Germany.

"We have half an hour actually. So make it short," Britain suggested – he quietly asked Canada for more wine after he finished his first.

America checked his watch and raised it to everyone's attention. "We have a whole hour, Brit-aiin! I, the hero, shall now speak!"

"Just hurry up!" Britain rushed, his glass already half-empty after the re-fill.

America raised his glass and said, "TO US!"

Everyone cheered lightheartedly –Britain grumbled in the background saying, "That was it?!"

With little to resist, Hungary raised her glass as well; deep inside, she could feel her hand shaking and her nerves pulsing to embrace all of her friends. She wanted to slap the Gilbert ghost for putting her in this.

 _"Shuuush, my awesome self is about to give a toast!"_  she heard the boy say, morphing his own little ghostly glass.

"To me and everyone else," Prussia interjected. "STAY AWESOME!"

Poland chuckled, after taking a drink. "Like, I never knew you totally cared!"

"We all care because we're all  _amigos_!" Spain proclaimed. " _Vivimos juntos y morimos juntos!"_

At this, Romano complained. "That's not to be brought up, tomato-bastard!"

"What? It's true, we live together and we –"

America laughed awkwardly. "Dude, don't bring up that 'D' word now! That's for later!"

When the limo halted under a traffic light, everyone finished their drinks except Hungary. She remembered she had worried about her preparations during the ride to the grand building. Right now, she was worried yet again, but this time with more to think about.

The Nations conversed among themselves as America started the music. Poland, beside her, was proclaiming to Canada about an epic party. To her left, Germany was chatting to Italy about containing his annoying behaviours. Meanwhile she had no one to bother her except the Austrian who she really did not want to talk to.

Luckily, Austria had excused himself and sat by America and Britain, apparently to discuss the Grand Meeting's ceremony. She noticed him fingering his side pocket and she immediately knew that the Immunity syringe was inside. This was before he'd revealed his selfish secret to her.

She found the little Gilbert dumbly fiddling with Prussia's hair, as if the Nation was going to look at him while he was clearly preoccupied with France, Spain and Romano. For a second, she wondered if Prussia could actually feel the little boy's cold, freezing touch, but it must not be so, since this was entirely  _her_  dream – unfortunately controlled by the ghostly child in some areas.

Switzerland awkwardly wandered over to her side. "Lili wanted me to ask you, to gather your 'girl friends' later," he said. He sounded uncomfortable mentioning 'girl friends'.

Hungary smiled; she noticed Liechtenstein waving at her, a seat-belt around her waist.

"I will find our friends once we arrive," said Hungary, recognizing the words were what she had said before. "But can I ask where you got the seat-belt for your sister?"

"I supplied it myself," Switzerland said quickly. "Lili drank wine, and I don't trust the limo driver."

Hungary couldn't help but wonder how on earth Switzerland had installed the seat-belt on the spot, but aside from that, she dearly wanted to ask if they were still alive, for real. Nevertheless, no matter how hard she tried to speak, her will was caged to the dream.

"So about later, Vash…" she started, "Could you do me a favour?"

"Sure." Switzerland's eyes flickered to Austria, then back at her. She was fully aware of him trying to avoid the Austrian Nation.

Hungary looked up from the blood-red wine in her glass. "If it so happen that I'm assigned a seat beside someone I don't like at the meeting, do me a favour and sit on that seat for me?"

"So long as you do whatever Lili asked," Switzerland nodded. "I want her to enjoy the meeting." She knew he would agree anyway, since he was trying to sit away from Austria with his own reasons.

"I have Belgium to help me with that. Besides, you'll be accompanying Lili too, right?"

"Yes." He sounded concerned. "Hopefully, there won't be any dancing. I don't like dancing."

Hungary chuckled. She instantly remembered Japan telling her about his imagination with Switzerland in a dress. Japan had mentioned it once, during their gossip about  _yaoi_  books with South Korea and Taiwan. Apparently, Japan had randomly thought of Switzerland and him, singing and dancing around the Alpine mountains.

 _"He did what?"_  the ghostly Gilbert squawked, appearing by her knees.  _"That's hilarious!"_

She waved him off and returned to Switzerland, who was giving her a confused expression. "What? I'm sorry, I don't like dancing," he insisted.

"And I respect that," said Hungary.  _Yo, ho, ho, tra, la, la,_  her mind entertained. The little Prussian was laughing by her side at the shared recollection.

Suddenly the memory made her repeat a question that shocked her, now that she knew something more. "Vash, why are you trying to avoid Roderich? I thought you two were in good terms?"

"Yeah, but…" Switzerland glanced to where Austria was; the man was being distracted by Italy. "After all that had come to pass, you never really forget don't you? Old histories. You of all Nations should know. And I don't like what he's been doing."

Hungary's lips parted. "What?"

"He's burrowed one of my best doctors and I haven't seen the man for a while now. He said he was working on some mad things. Silly medicines and such…experiments…"

Hungary swallowed. The little Gilbert leaned against her leg, like they were telling him a bedtime story.

"Austria's gone frantic, I think," continued the Alpine, "I don't know what he's doing and I don't like the fact that he stole one of my doctors. Last minute preparations are not ideal at this rate. People are predicting an early incoming disaster."

"Yeah," Hungary voiced; she had been clueless of this before, but now it was all making total sense. "He hasn't been inviting me over to his place. I guess he's still preparing last minute duties."

Switzerland nodded at this, and then all of a sudden his face froze. Little Gilbert looked at her with glittering eyes and the whole limo of Nations started to fade away. Hungary placed the rim of the glass to her lips and gulped the last of her wine only to be suddenly drench in –

_Splaaaaaaaaaaaash!_

Hungary's face was showered with warm water. Panic-stricken, her arms flailed to stop the stream flooding her senses. She realized she was wearing a respiratory mask loosely around her neck, and the water bounced about the mask before assaulting her face. Her throat was itchy and her eyes furiously blinked up at an empty grey sky.

She was wide awake.

Liquid blurred her vision and it felt like a waterfall drenched her for hours. In mere seconds it graciously ended. The bucket load of muck was rudely poured on her by someone–oh yeah. Right. She was back in  _this_  nightmare.

"Ro, that was very gentlemanly of you!" said a voice tinged with mocking laughter.

"Why thank you Bulgaria. I could not help it. The Magyar was a very smelly, smelly, smelly corpse. I had to deal with it, y'know?"

Laughter erupted.

Hungary tasted sour liquid mixed with mud and grime in her mouth. They had doused her with the marsh water.

 _I will_ thank _both of them later_ , she thought, quickly spitting everything out. As she did, her throat stole the opportunity to release glowing fluids that reminded her of the dream all over again.

The Immunity.

She had detested it earlier but now she did not know what to think. It was a substance made by the hands of innocent doctors forced under Austria's will.

She immediately rinsed her mouth with filtered water from one of the canteens.

It had been some odd hours of sleep after Bulgaria showed up. When he and Romania had reunited they'd immediately exchanged news. Romania had told him almost everything he'd told her; from the changes in Europe to his plans for his people, and everything else in between; the trains, his patrol men, Hungary's attempts to kill him...

That time, Hungary had not really interrupted them because she was worried. Just worried.

Bulgaria and especially Romania were both armed. Bulgaria was scrawnier than usual, but he looked strong enough with a fighting chance against anyone. When he had emerged out of the shadows with his spear, he looked unkempt and bedraggled, like he had spent months alone traveling without his favourite coffee drink.

The Bulgarian wore a black, V-neck shirt with ripped sleeves, a green scarf around his neck. His uniform trousers were smeared with stains of what looked like blood. His face appeared to be its usual colour, even though he'd only relied on a raggedy scarf against the ash.

The fact that Bulgaria did not have a filtration mask was probably because he had traveled through warmer lands, than radioactive, ash-ridden zones. That, or Hungary supposed, the air was not so bad in the southern regions after all.

One of the other things Hungary was worried about was that she was slightly afraid of what Romania might do to her and Turkey. Now that he had found who he had been looking for, she thought he would finally leave them alone. Though, he had not said anything about it yet.

The notion of finally being left alone would have made her extremely happy before, but now she was completely unsure. There were cannibals still out there and she had no weaponry in hand. Romania had Illes's trust and the trains, as well as food supplies and a frying pan for all sake.

Hungary rubbed her eyes. Tired and sore from where she slept, she wiped her face with her torn uniform and as she did so, she could hear the ridicule from the Romanian and his ally.

"The Magyar needed a midday shower," he said.

"Wow. You really put up with her, this long?"

"It was hell."

Romania and Bulgaria's laughter faded as soon as they walked away to converse. Hungary did not feel the sudden need to run up to them and punch them both in the guts. She felt too tired and hungry for anything right now.

Gazing around, she found Turkey sitting under the shade of a boulder. His head limply faced her, fatigue etched on his features. Hungary crawled up to him with concern.

Last night, when the Turk had asked Bulgaria about Cyprus's whereabouts, Bulgaria shook his head and dismissed the subject to sleep. Turkey had given up then. He slept with clouded eyes filled with dismay, and Hungary had made sure to sleep close by. She did not want to lose this Nation; he might be the only friend she had left.

"Help me up, will yah, Hungary?" groaned Turkey.

Grabbing both his hands, Hungary stood up and raised the Turk to a standing position. He wobbled for a moment and gently told her to let go.

Hungary watched as he independently took a few steps forward. He was doing infinitely better than when they had found him. Relaxed, she handed him some food and offered a seat, although, Turkey was more interested in practicing his motor functions.

"If you can walk, I can walk," he contested. "Don't worry, I'm fine! Let's have a three-legged race against those two. Watch and we'll win!"

Hungary smiled. She was really glad he was feeling better.

However, his leg injury had not healed as much as she'd hoped. The bandages and ointments were not curing it fast enough, and a single infection would make it swell. Turkey told her he'd tripped on a shard of metal in the ravine. He had almost drowned.

After they ate the rations that were set up for them, Turkey reclaimed his satchel, which Romania had left unguarded.

Searching through his bag for Turkish food, he cursed. Someone had pried through his bag and disposed the provisions. Instead of carrying out his anger, he fished out a tile-game 'Okey' to soothe pulsing nerves. The Nation started placing the tiles on a boulder to play.

"Join me?" he asked her lightly, scattering the game tiles.

"Oh Turkey," she grinned, happily seating herself in front of the man to play a short game.

Romania and Bulgaria were no were near them. Hungary spied their little figures, through the blackened-forest of thin trees. They were enjoying each other's company, like old friends immersed in a long conversation.

Hungary could not really hear what they were talking about, but she was certain that they were exchanging jokes and stories – and they were laughing, like the world around them was not so dark and bleak. She could see Romania showing off a silly magic trick and Bulgaria admiring the Nation with a goofy grin.

 _Geez, I swear those two are married,_ Hungary thought humorously, believing one was gay for the other. After placing her turn on Turkey's game, her gaze averted to something utterly surprising.

Hungary noticed Romania had left behind his things, unsupervised. Unattended. Bulgaria's spear leaned against Romania's large supply bag as if pointing her to the ' _Bag of Goodness'_ , like a ray of sunshine.

 _'Bag of Idiocy' in my opinion,_ Hungary smirked, thinking Romania was stupid enough to neglect such a treasure. Immediately, she stood up, ran to Romania's bag, ripped it open, and rummaged through.

Turkey noticed her leave. "Um. I save this game for later, then?"

He found her taking out rations, ropes and blankets, from the bag.

"Whoa. What are ye doin', Hungary?"

"Don't stop me!" Hungary pronounced. She found a flashlight, a spray bottle, a medicine kit, a fire lighter, a random spell book, a bundle of candles, a book of matches and a couple of filtration masks. But no frying pan. No matter.

She started wrapping up some of the supplies in a blanket. At that moment, she hungered to leave. Find Austria. Find others.

"Someone's not thinking straight," said a voice that sent a cold stream down her spine. Something sharp was poking her back, and she instantly knew it was a pointed tip of a spear's blade.

Hungary did not turn around. She felt numb, and she could hear Romania and Bulgaria right behind her. Turkey was deathly silent.

She swore the last time she saw Romania and Bulgaria they were farther away, chatting.  _Oh great, Romania has teleporting powers now?_ Hungary angrily thought. The idea was impossible, even with his silly magic tricks. They had probably known she would do something like this.

"Ro, she just wants to find her friends. Let her be," she heard Bulgaria say.

"Turn around, Magyar." Romania's voice sounded commanding, but oddly gentle. She fiercely dropped the bag of supplies and turned her heel, blazing her eyes at Romania's.

He was not holding the spear to her chest – in fact, he was beside Turkey, spinning a pistol with one hand and holding the Turk's arm on the other, as if taking him hostage. Bulgaria was the one pointing the spear straight at her, curiosity in his striking dark eyes.

"Magyar," said Romania, ever so politely. "Put those back in the bag. Please."

Hungary tightened her fists.  _No._  She could steal the spear from Bulgaria and make a run for it. She could navigate her way to the train station, find Illes, and just run for it. Sorry Turkey. She had to go west, to find –

"You know, we  _are_ going back to Mister Németh, right?" Romania informed, titling his head.

Hungary looked at him, then Bulgaria. "I don't get him either," shrugged the Bulgarian.

Crossly, Hungary swatted the spear away, and started repacking Romania's things. Every escape attempt had been very hasty, as if a pulsing wave urged her to do desperate and crazy measures. She spat out some glowing fluid after a momentary cough.

Romania started ahead, Bulgaria right behind him, spear in hand.

"Keep up, Magyar!" Romania called. "I'll let you carry the bag, since you want it sooo badly."

"You're letting her carry your stuff?" Bulgaria asked.

"Yup." Romania clapped a hand behind his friend. "It's not like she's going to do anything stupid with it. She's got very little options of escaping at the moment. Oh and, Bul, help yourself with some breakfast, you didn't eat much last night. You must be starvin'! Food's in the bag. Grab a bite and we go!"

Turkey was helping Hungary finish repacking, when Bulgaria loomed over them. He picked up a canned soup and gave it a nod.

"Ro's a good guy," he said to them with a strange tone in his voice. He nodded at the can again, repeating, "A good guy."

Turkey grunted at the ironic statement and with his satchel, he awkwardly limped towards Romania, ready to leave.

Standing up, Hungary slung the bag behind her and gave Bulgaria a hard look. At times he was hard to comprehend. She had known him as much as she had known Romania. Bulgaria had had this habit of saying 'no' with a nod and saying 'yes' with a shake of his head. He had maybe broken that habit, or not.  _Why nod at the silly canned soup?_ She wondered if he had started entertaining himself with silly, inanimate objects.

The moment he tucked the can in his pocket, Hungary questioned, "You're not going to eat, that?"

Bulgaria gave her a toothy grin. "I'll eat it later," he muttered and hurried after the others.

Hungary followed, watching the group from behind. Romania was ahead a few steps, pistols in his pockets, ambling onward with confidence and leading the way. On the other hand, Hungary intently and closely observed Bulgaria who placed a scrawny hand behind Turkey's back.

The toothy grin he had shown her was frightening. She gulped.  _Where did he find his spear? Did he make the weapon…himself?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Helló mindenki! (Hungarian for: Hello everyone!)
> 
> Jó reggelt (Hungarian for: Good morning!)
> 
> pierogi (Polish dumplings)
> 
> Vivimos juntos y morimos juntos! (Spanish for: We live together and we die together!)
> 
> Bulgaria and coffee: let's just say, it's pretty popular there. ("Coffee is highly popular in Bulgaria. However, the country's total...is far from being the highest in Eastern Europe...Bulgarians will continue drinking large amounts of coffee at home, at work or when going out..." - Euromonitor's /coffee-in-bulgaria/report)
> 
> . . .
> 
> In the very beginning, when I was reading aloud Austria's part to recheck, my little sister came up with this for the scene:
> 
> Doctor: I knew you were treble when I walked in! So shame on you now, plagued me these things I'd never seen. Then you put me down, Oh, I knew you were trouble when I signed in! So shame on you now, gave me these things I'd never seen. Now I'm lying on the cold hard ground.
> 
> *barf noises* HEEEEEEEEERGH! HEEEEEERGH! Treble, treble, trouble! *dies*
> 
> Austria: *turns away* And that's how you drop zhe bass.
> 
> Song is Taylor Swift's I Knew You Were Trouble.
> 
> Need I explain myself...


	9. Into A Firelight

"Land it there!"

"I'll land when I find the right spot," said Belgium gently, pulling the yoke control and slowly making the plane gain altitude.

The little red aircraft, which Belgium decided to call 'The Scarlet Baron,' was a small two-seater. Inside its windowed cabin was an armed, paranoid Swiss and a confident Belgian who wasn't at all concerned about the creaking noises, engine drawls, ticking gauges, and red warning signs blinking all over the front panel.

After the shaky take-off almost eight hours before, Belgium reassured Switzerland that she had enough experience piloting fighter planes, bombers and autogiros, even those in worse wear. He had nothing to worry about.

"I can fly anything like this," Belgium winked. "Alfred and Arthur helped me get my pilot's license. I performed damn well in the air force during the Second War. Those years were a mess, but I had a good time shooting enemy birds out of the skies. And I know there is a risk of crash landing –"

"Which I hope you won't do, under the current circumstances!" Switzerland deadpanned, spotting faint scars along the Belgian's right knuckles and collar bone.

"Obviously, grumpy," Belgium giggled, "we've only got this baby to take care of!" She noticed Switzerland transfixed by the lined blemishes on her hand and neck. "Oh. My scars?" Belgium lifted her scarred knuckles. "This one's from my Spanish friend, so these don't even count as a pilot's scar," she told him, and then revealed a faint line running below her collar bone. "This is from my first ever crash land and…" Belgium lifted the dud helmet and brushed her bangs away to expose something on her forehead. Switzerland could vaguely see a jagged, inch-long scar along her temple.

"This one's from my last crash landing," she said flatly. "After the Second War, I didn't fly as much as I had. Maybe it was because of fear of another crash landing. But hey…" Belgium shied away from Switzerland's gaze. "We're Nation-beings. We go to war, get battle scars and yet  _still_  go to war. What's life without risks?"

"A life well lived," grumbled Switzerland, cradling two of his rifles and unfurling a chart on his lap. "Take risks that have beneficial outcomes. Other than that, some chances are just pointless follies."

"Benefiting outcomes and 'pointless follies' make life worth living!" Belgium declared. "I see your problem! You like keeping everything inside your borders. You like living safely within them. You don't like trespassers, you're over-protective, and you're paranoid, not to mention cheap –"

Switzerland sighed loudly. "Since when do you know me?"

"Life can't  _all_ be in a protective cage."

"WHAT?!"

"Okay, maybe I should've rephrased –"

"Well, what about you? You think you're so grand?" Switzerland snarled. "Countries admire you for whatever it is you do – that I don't get. You're just another one of those pretty girls they like."

"I beg your pardon? _"_  Belgium jolted the plane for a second. "For your information, they happen to think I'm–"

"You're a nice country, Bel, but you've had it easy out of this catastrophe crap. You admitted it yourself! You just got tossed out of your country and lugged into one of the German camps with your surviving people and all you had to do was beat up a bunch of bad guys, and search for your brother. Huh. That's all there was, right?"

"What –are you comparing our situations even if –?"

"Just keep your eyes to the skies, pilot," said Switzerland, gritting his teeth. "There's only so much this plane can take."

Switzerland turned the flashlight on and directed its beam onto the map open in front of him. The light spilled onto the front glass, making Belgium's face disappear from its reflective surface. When she turned her head to face him, he raised his chart to block her view, literally making a wall between them.

Belgium frowned, unwilling to settle the subject. " _Goed!_  But let me tell you this: all my life I've been trying to stand out and make my own mark!

"Then I look at my big brother – a hard worker, and one of the earliest explorers! He'd left imprints across the globe! Take his ' _Vereenigde Oost-Indische Compagnie'_ , for example. Me? No. I've done my own thing, but never succeeded like him.

"Sometimes, I feel like I carry a boring past. My people love me, but I don't know if I'd done enough for them." She laughed ruefully. " _In Godsnaam,_  some of the Nation-beings think my clothes are bland! I'm starting to believe that I  _am_  a boring, bland Belgian with waffles and chocolates."

Switzerland felt the plane swerve and the propellers churn; he assumed Belgium was gripping the controls agitatedly. It took a few long minutes for the plane to relax.

The Swiss was drowning in the awkward silence when suddenly, Belgium snickered with wonderment. "So…you think I'm a pretty nice country, hmm?"

Flustered, Switzerland swallowed uneasily. "I don't think you're  _bland,_ or boring either," he muttered.

He'd been searching for another Nation-being since more than a week ago, and when he had spotted Belgium in the truck filled with dreary passengers, she had stood out to him.  _Looking lustrous with hope and grit,_ Switzerland remembered.

"And you shouldn't compare yourself to your older brother," he piped. "He's had his own strife and he'd dealt with it his own way. You had yours." Switzerland knew this very well; Liechtenstein would sometimes compare herself to him.

He sensed Belgium was about to remark, but he stopped her before the conversation took any more tongue-tying turns. "Are we going to land anytime soon?" he asked anxiously.

Belgium pitched the plane forward again, making Switzerland jump from his place, before easily recovering its position – a clear reminder that the Belgian had everything under control and that there was no need to worry.

The phrase 'No need to worry' was not quite what Switzerland had thought of while packing his weapons. Besides the two rifles which he had insisted on carrying in the cabin, he had a belt of small weapons around his waist, along with a pocket of versatile miniature grenades and knives in his jacket. He called them his 'essentials,' but they were pretty uncomfortable to carry, especially in the cramped plane. However, sitting with such heavy weaponry in the tight aircraft was the least of his problems.

By his seat, there was an open section of siding. It displayed dangerously loose electrical wires that connected the rear of the plane to its front controls. The wiring probably functioned seat-belts, seat adjustments and radios. Belgium had warned him to avoid making contact with it during the flight, noting it was safe as long as it was not tampered with. One of them was activated, connected to the working fuselage, but mercifully, no electrical energy surged from it…yet. He feared that heat and metal contact could set it off like a gas fuse. The Alpine shifted in his seat uncomfortably.

Almost nine hours had already passed since the take-off and according to Belgium, they were flying northwards at a steady, energy-saving speed. She was cautious, no doubt, but she started feeling sleepy.

Keeping the flashlight on his map, Switzerland traced a finger along the route he had traveled alone and the course he proposed they were traveling.

"We're maybe around Nürnberg," he yawned, somewhat to himself. The Alpine couldn't – and wouldn't – sleep until they land somewhere safely. "Bamburg? Hof? I don't know. How are you even navigating in this?"

Belgium made an irritated noise. "What?"

"Have you rechecked the navigational system in front of you?"

"It stopped working an hour ago," Belgium asserted, steadying the plane to uplift.

"Great! You're tired, aren't you?" Switzerland hassled. "We should land. Right now is good. How are you even keeping track of –?"

" _Laat met rust,_ Vash Zwingli!" Wing flaps tilted and the plane banked sharply. Switzerland braced himself. But instead of a sideways tilt or a nose dive again to jolt him, Belgium levelled the plane and eased the speed.

They'd been flying in a somewhat blustery weather, but that didn't trouble the spirited Belgian. When the plane had taken off from the hoodlums' airbase, the airstreams had buffeted them to the ground, but Belgium had extreme control.

She had noted every weakness of the plane. There was the problem with the electricity shortage, some broken mechanical systems, malfunctioning panel displays, and most importantly, limited fuel. Although they had tended to these issues beforehand, it was Belgium who really managed to keep the aircraft going through it all. Already they'd covered so much ground from the airbase, and Switzerland gradually relaxed, though he did not want to admit he'd started trusting the Belgian pilot.

Moments later, Belgium announced that they were making headway to Erlangen, where she planned to land. Her eyes unwavering from the grim clouds before her, she stated, "We should be able to see landmarks down below."

"Aside from the chaos down there, I think the rubble will surely tell us where we are," Switzerland sighed sarcastically. "If we encounter flying pigs, we'll ask them for directions too." He grumpily folded his map and gazed down at the landscape beneath them. Pressing his face against the glass of the cabin, he searched the land for a clear, strip of road.

The plane glided over collapsed buildings, piles of deteriorated cars, and ashen homes. The whole landscape looked as if it had been demolished by a fiery tornado. For hours, Switzerland waited for Belgium's instructions or at least a 'preparation procedure' for landing. He wondered if the plane could even land correctly in its fragile condition.

The engine hummed, the metal creaked and the little red alarms blinked their warnings.

As the sun seeped out of the horizon for dawn, Switzerland loosened his collar. Even without his gas mask on, he could feel sweat run down his face. Belgium was not wearing her mask either, saying that it would only suffocate and obscure her vision while driving. It seemed like a fool's move not to wear any air filters while in the sky, but when they reached a respectable altitude, the air was not as hotly constricting as the fog they had encountered days ago.

So far everything was according to plan. Belgium peered over the cockpit. Now that there was sunlight, she spied a good landing spot. Switzerland followed her gaze and saw a long, narrow strip of road, left untarnished by fallen obstacles. The tarmac was long, fairly even, and overall suitable for a landing. Although it was narrow, there was enough room to fit the plane's wing span.

The Swiss felt wind leave his lungs as Belgium quickly banked the plane. Before he could complain, the Belgian angled the plane sharply, lining it up to the road.

She pulled a lever with one hand, her other remaining firmly clenched around the yoke control. Pointing the aircraft's nose above landing strip, Belgium engaged autopilot.

There was no radio tower to respond to her landing requests, but she played along with the procedure anyway, like a child playing pretend. "Scarlet Baron is ready for landing," she giggled through the broken microphone around her helmet. "All landing gears operational, expect landing in ten! We're good to go, do you copy?"

Switzerland was pretty sure Belgium was making up the phrases.

Her eyes were solidly concentrating on the asphalt ahead of them, vigour coursing through her nerves. The plane's altitude dipped, lower and lower. Switzerland could feel his stomach lurch nervously with the angled descent. The blinking red indicators, squealing landing gear and shaking metal confused him. The Alpine gripped his seat with one hand while the other hugged his two rifles.

A maniacal laughter erupted from Belgium's throat as the plane's nose dove towards the tarmac. The mass of metal jerked upward, bruising their bodies and jostling their bones from the immediate force of the touch down, then the next. The last wheel grazed following the first two, and the plane ran coarsely against the asphalt.

Belgium steered the plane gracefully and pulled on the speed brake. After what felt like hours when it had only happened in mere minutes, the plane eventually surrendered, and the landing gear stopped turning. It halted in front of a crumbled section of their new found runway that they were probably lucky they hadn't hit.

Belgium was still panting from the rush. She turned off the plane engine immediately.

After the plane's propeller finally stopped spinning, Switzerland let out a sigh of relief. The moment Belgium opened the cockpit she removed her helmet, leaped off the aircraft and ran to the nearest pile of rubble to wretch – whatever she had eaten during the flight left her system.

Switzerland stood on his seat and surveyed their surroundings. He had one rifle ready while the other leaned by one of the bags on the floor. They had landed in an isolated place with no intruders in sight. It appeared to be another dead city, looking like a war zone.  _What else is new?_  thought the Swiss. He decided to remain perched on the plane, overlooking things. Belgium reappeared, flushed from the nerves.

"That was – _burp!_  – excuse me," the Nation covered her mouth. She wobbled towards the plane's cast shadow and crumpled on the dusty ground, exhausted. High heat came on them in minutes as the sun rose for noon.

"It was…thrilling," uttered Switzerland. "You did well."

Belgium felt proud. "Not bad for a flight on DR right?"

He tossed one of the respiratory masks to her and returned to his hawk-like stance. "DR?" Switzerland queried. "That navigational system so often filled with errors?"

"Dead Reckoning," smiled the Belgian. " _Oui!_  It's the fancy term describing a flight without use of a GPS and stuff. Now, about these gas masks…" She examined her mask like it was an exotic dessert. "Huh. I'm not wearing this yet." They were supposed to take precautions and have their masks covering their faces upon arrival, but strangely, the air felt normal and fair to the nostrils. Belgium tied the mask to her belt and then took off her coat and looped it around her waist. Wearing only a sweaty white tank top, the Nation cautiously checked the heated doors of the luggage compartment.

Switzerland realized she was planning to set up camp here, in the middle of an open expanse. "Are you mad?" he disapproved. "We can't set up camp here tonight! It's wide open for any attackers! They'll see us from miles!"

"Not if I can help it," assured Belgium, half of her body in the hollow fuselage as she dug through the luggage compartment. Switzerland returned his gaze to the horizon, troubled.

Finally, Belgium pulled out a canvas. It was a creamy coloured sheet that could be used to cover a section of the airplane. Before the Swiss could say any further, Belgium fished out more sheets of different colours. Some were torn in corners, but by the lengths of each canvas, it appeared she had enough to cover the Scarlet Baron.

Belgium laid out several covers on the ground, as if setting up a picnic. She nodded to Switzerland with a grin. "Once the plane cools off tonight, we'll toss this over and we're good!"

Switzerland acquiesced.  _I guess I'll shoot whoever approaches,_  he said in his mind. Unexpectedly, Belgium stole his attention again. She was lying sleepily under the shade of the plane on one of the coloured canvases, heat glistening on her skin, eyes shut to everything around her. She looked so peaceful. Her brown hair splayed around her head, looking like rays of sunshine against the dark green sheet where she lay.

Clearing his throat silently, Switzerland shook his head, averting his focus back to watch duty. He thought he heard something nearby and instantly readied to aim, but to his dismay, nothing came forth. He recalled the time he'd done the same thing on the melted car, where he'd spotted the rickety truck of passengers with the Belgian Nation among them. His stomach grumbled, remembering the moment Liechtenstein's ghost had offered him a sandwich.

As if she had skimmed his thoughts, Belgium suddenly called out, "Hey, Vash! Could you please toss me my lunch? There are some snacks in my bag…"

Switzerland let out a puff of annoyance.

Belgium continued, propping herself up on her elbows. "Oh, and I kept the wine bottle in my bag too! Mind if you could toss that over, please? How about you come down here and let's have a toast?"

"Toast to what?" Switzerland muttered. He stepped down from the chair, clumsily stepped on one end of his second rifle, and –

"DOH!" he cringed. Its other metal end hit him right in the manhood. He had completely forgotten about his other rifle, the one on the floor, and he had carelessly landed on it.

"Are you okay up there?" he heard Belgium ask.

"I'm fine!" He got up and brushed his suit, trying to look for the other rifle he'd held just before. He didn't notice he'd dropped it diagonally beside his seat, and when he'd flinched back from his first hit, he had bumped it. "Oh, crap."

The rifle hit one of the loose electrical wires.

The butt of one of his guns made contact to it, but what concerned him even more was the collection of small weapons had had inside his jacket pockets, especially a mini stun gun clinging to his belt. There were plenty of things that could trigger an explosion in the plane.

Switzerland felt a bead of sweat slide down his forehead.  _I just had to carry so many small weapons on me,_ he exhaled _._ He removed a third weapon and placed it on the floor far away from the wiring. Nothing sparked.

"Vash?" Belgium called.

"I'll get your wine!" groaned Switzerland, sounding something like a wounded animal. He reached for the rifle by the wiring but hesitated at once. He turned to his other rifle.

 _Damn these guns,_  thought the Swiss.

"Vash, need help?"

As if she was about to find him frazzled like this, he hurriedly flung himself to the pilot's seat, ignoring the guns clattering to the floor. Heart racing, he pulled out a bottle and granola bars from Belgium's bag at the foot of the pilot seat; she even had stale crackers supplied. When he manoeuvred himself to stand with wine and some snacks in hand, he accidentally –

"DUF! OH FUCK!" – jabbed his crotch on a teetering rifle again. He staggered for footing, but the plane was a tight fit. His feet stepped on another one of his guns and then all of a sudden – when it seemed like it couldn't get any worse – a trickle ran up his leg.

It felt like a mouse sneaking through his trousers. He started shimmying to get the sensation out. The plane's confining space made him all the more frenetic.

His buttons loosened; his belts dropped. Like a gumball machine, he felt his grenades, his little knives, his radio and second stun gun spill all over the floor. Everywhere he stepped was one of his own devices. His stun guns had set off in frenzy the moment they touched the flooring. Little shocks surged through his boots.

If someone were to witness his silly dance moves around the cockpit he would shoot them dead. "Gr! GnhF! Guh! Oof!" He gritted his teeth. He skipped, danced, hopped and wiggled; the tickles climbing up to his middle. "Ngh!"

"Vash, what's going on?"

"N-Nothing!" He flung himself to the edge, panting, looking down to see if Belgium moved a muscle. He did not want her to check on his mess and rescue him. The situation was already too embarrassing as it is. Lucky for him, Belgium was still relaxing, eyes shut – though her brows furrowed as she wondered what he was doing. "Just KEEP –nfg! – sleeping! Rela –HA –ax!" Tingles reverberated along his sides, making him veer close to a heated side of the fuselage. His belt of bullets tangled around his legs, his radio spazzing by his boots. "I've GOT it all under c-control! Hurgh!"

"It doesn't sound like..."

Switzerland slipped over one of his grenades. "I'm just a LITTLE – grAh!" He accidentally nudged the stifling warm wall of the engine. "HOT! OH I'M HOT!" A rain of snacks fell upon Belgium after he tossed the snacks into the open air. She finally looked up at him, confused.

Switzerland still had the wine bottle. "I've got your –ngf!" he tried to continue. "I've got–your THING!"

A pulsing wave ran through one of the rifles he inadvertently kicked. The wave –reinforced by the loose wire's link and unfortunately, from his small stun guns – made him jolt upright on the spot. He felt like he was radiating an electrical current throughout the whole plane.

"Vash…?" Belgium regarded him thrashing against the plane's side.

Switzerland had to kill the wire's strange currents and clean out the disarray before Belgium checked up on him – and before he humiliated himself even further among his little pieces of weaponry.

 _This is what I get for sneaking some barrels, bullets, grenades and whatnot into the plane's cockpit,_  he sighed, the electrical shock drying up his throat.

Hastily and one-handedly, he threw out his spastic radio and his two rifles. He kept an eye on Belgium just in case she would attack him with curiosity. Fortunately, she just was watching him, somewhat entertained by his unusual antics. His free hand groped around for the other small weapons to organize.

From a different viewing angle, it appeared like he was simply watching her for pleasure. He blushed from the thought _. Fuck these weapons!_ A zap blasted through his arms the moment he tried to retrieve one of his stun guns. "GUH!"

Belgium restrained a giggle. "Vash, um…could you hand over the wine now?"

Without intending to he let a little moan escape his lips, and then almost over the edge he held out the wine bottle for her to take. He looked pretty dishevelled. "Here, I –ahaaa…Ugruuuh!"

Belgium raised a brow. She caught the wine bottle when he promptly dropped it to her hands. His fists randomly banged against the plane's aluminium siding again.

"I'm just – ngfh!  _Excitedforthewine!_ " Every ounce of his face wanted to keep straight and stern, but his jerking body just made him look like a tingly, nervous wreck.

All the while he twitched and stared at Belgium's puzzled countenance, he thought about what to do with the liberated electricity. _How could I turn off my stun guns again without making contact? WHY ON EARTH is it like this anyway?_

"Switzerland, are you coming down…or…?"

He shakily put on an 'I've-already-told-you-nothing's-wrong-with-me' look. His boots were wildly heating up. The electricity and heat ran through his legs to his upper body.  _My boots aren't made of metal though! This is absurd – what is–? I shouldn't be this–_

"AH-haaah – HAH –Wh –what do you mean c-climb down?" He edged closer to where the loose wire was, thinking rashly:  _I should just kick the thing dead! Maybe that'll shut it off!_ "I mean I'd rather – nfhghf! – be –rather be –UP!" His boot impetuously kicked the wire's end, which sent a final rivulet of energy right through him.

 _Pupfhoooosh!_  He flailed against the plane's metal side once more, arms over the edge, dazed. Switzerland felt winded, sweat running down his forehead in a bucket load. If that was supposed to be pleasure, he had an overdose of it. He lifted his gaze to Belgium. "As I was saying," he panted, "I'd rather be up here to celebrate…what?"

Belgium reached up to him and traced his chin with gentle fingers. "You look like you were in a state of shock," she whispered thoughtfully, making him flinch, "if you know what I mean..."

Switzerland felt a raspy breath escape him. He brushed his hair with one hand, trying to rid it of the static. He hoped he didn't need to explain his humiliating performance.

In a blink, her alluring display turned to disapproval. "You should've told me you were in trouble!" she snapped, drawing back with a knowing glare.

With a fizzling noise, the pesky wire finally released its last electrical surge. Both Nations glanced to its direction. Switzerland found it hard to believe it had managed to shake his whole body. The shocks felt horrendous from something that was supposed to be a dead cable. He unsteadily stood up.

"I'll be right – ngf!" He could still feel the tingles fading through his being as the shocks died down. "I'll be right back," he told her.

Wiping his forehead, he started feeling concerned of a rising body temperature. The electrical shocks triggered the beginning of what felt like a feverish sickness in him. Then, as if the whole world crashed down upon the Swiss, he knew why there were so much erratic sensations. A shock from one of his own stun guns electrified him, a nudge to the engine heated his skin and a boot to the wire vehemently wrung him, and yet, it also came from his country's sickness –something he'd thought he had already recovered from when the visions of Liechtenstein had ended.

A popping sound snapped him out of the reverie. Belgium had uncorked the wine with a small knife.

"You know, I'm not really 'shocked' by your foolish behaviour," she chuckled, setting up her humble picnic. "It was only a matter of time until you'd set off that wiring cable. Can't say I didn't warn you though. But I didn't know it would cause that much shock!" She laughed.

Taking only one of his rifles this time and storing everything away safely and securely under the seats, Switzerland stumbled out of the plane at last. Certainly, he still pocketed a bunch of his small weapons in his jacket, but fewer than before. He noted his fever and sat a couple of feet away from the Belgian Nation.

The sun cruised by slowly for the afternoon. No other life in sight, no stranger intruded. Nothing. It was just the two of them in the midst of a highway with piles of dilapidated debris and a crusty plane as their company. The shadow of the Scarlet Baron cooled them, but Switzerland still had a feverish heat.

"I raise a toast," cheered Belgium, "to the successful flight!" After chugging down the wine half-empty, Belgium passed it to him, mumbling something about the drink being so unlike her Belgian beer.

Switzerland drunk it down quickly before he added to the toast, saying, "We survived."

"And we will tomorrow too," Belgium chirped, "because tomorrow, we're heading up North again! We'll find my brother! He can be a Dutch dipstick I tell you, but he's family..."

Belgium laced her hands behind her head and sprawled back down on the canvas, ready to take another siesta. "I wonder if I've ever told you – he and I fight on rare occasions," she sleepily murmured. "I confess, you remind me of him a little bit sometimes. But he's way more stiff," giggled the Nation. "I really hope he's okay though…"

Snacks eaten and the wine bottle empty, Switzerland got up, not wishing to disturb Belgium's repose. He stretched his limbs and, for the time being, strapped his rifle to his back. Hurriedly, he swung every available canvas over the plane's cooled exterior. He sealed its existence with the covers carefully, and even enriched the camouflage with rocks and wreckage. He made sure there was a flap to lift to access the luggage compartment and the cockpit. Instead of cloth and wood, he hid the exterior sidings of the engine using stone. For the propellers, he used foiled debris. The wings were tougher to hide, but there was enough wreckage surrounding it for proper disguise. Now the plane was completely covered in a pile of junk, only the two wings protruding.

It was near the end of the afternoon when he finished setting up a tent-like space under the tail wings of the plane. In his tent made of cheap, broken materials, he could hide a small candle with no light escaping. Satisfied with his work, Switzerland felt the corner of his mouth twitch with fulfillment.

He turned to Belgium, for whom siesta time was not over, but she was playing with her gas mask anyway, afraid to put it back on her face. Switzerland exhaled. The air didn't change the moment they set foot. He approached her, giving her a quizzical look.

"Help me get this canvas under the tent?" he requested, pointing at the junk-formed cave he made.

Belgium sat up and smiled weakly. She complied, helped him haul the last canvas into the tent-thing and laid it out as the floor. The ceiling was the Scarlet Baron's tail wing. It was a tight space to squeeze in, yet both Nations could fit.

Belgium was giggling like a little school girl. "Cozy, isn't it?"

"You're not sleeping in here!" Switzerland snapped, opening the flap to let her out. "You're sleeping in the plane's cabin. Make sure you seal the flap cover. There's a flashlight up there you can use. I haven't checked if it can hide light, but it should be fine. And don't waste the batteries. We're running low."

"Okay," Belgium grinned. "So when the plane lets out gas through its engine spout, let me know."

"It does not do that," he scowled, glancing up at the tail fins. Belgium exited his tent and returned with a candle and matches for him. "Oh, thanks."

"I figured you made this tent-thing for sealing in your own little candle," she said softly. "There's still some light out, I think I'll go walk around a bit. Scout and –"

"I'll do it."

"Don't be silly, Vash. You're sick." When she turned to leave, Switzerland stopped her.

"It's best I go with you. I don't care if I'm sick."

At that, the two Nations took a stroll. His lone rifle gripped tightly with both hands, Switzerland didn't comment about leaving the plane by itself. The luggage compartment and the cockpit were sealed up with all of their belongings, safe and sound, and he was willing to put their camouflage to the test.

Neither of them put on their gas masks; the silence between them was sickly sweet enough.

Belgium led the way, walking around buildings and deathly silent street corners. It started to feel eerie as the skies dimmed. The cold nightly wind slithered through the empty wasteland, sending dust in the air. Sunset was over.

Switzerland gulped. "I knew Liechtenstein was killed the moment of the flashes," he muttered, breaking the stillness between him and Belgium.

The other Nation turned to face him. She was ahead of him by a few steps, but he could still see sadness flicker across her face. "It's okay, Vash. No need to tell me everything. I respect your privacy."

"But it's about time I tell someone," Switzerland quavered, fingering the ribbon on his wrist.

The night was settling in making further exploration difficult, and it was time to head back.

"I shouldn't keep this bottled up," Switzerland conceded as they hike a different trail returning to their plane-camp. "It's driving me insane."

Belgium did not say anything. They kept on walking.

"The first and earliest of the flashes hit north of Austria," Switzerland told her, his voice steady and rigid. "We didn't know it would hit so early and by that time…by that time, Lili was ready to leave her country. Unfortunately, the blast struck her before she had a second to walk out.

"I blame myself for putting my people first for just a few seconds. I didn't know it would cost me my sister. I should've been there with her! I should've escorted her out! I should've paid a bit extra for a ship or a plane, anything! Anything that could've brought her to me sooner before –"

Switzerland felt a lump caught in his throat, and he slowly unravelled the ribbon from his wrist as they continued their trail.

"The next day, I found her. Her face was…was unrecognizable but it was her. I found her things. Her country was gone. None of her people made it." He distractedly looked around the winding ruins to soothe his mind and proceed.

"I held a private funeral for her. Just me. I sang her anthem. I suffered extreme denial. I went insane. My country and my men went mad. It was terrifying." He quietly chuckled, and in a soft murmur he added, "I was literally devastated."  _The many definitions of that single word…_

Belgium halted. "You really didn't want to believe it, did you?" she asked.

"Yes," he replied dryly. "My men turned on me, my country dissolved into chaos and I had no one else to turn to but her. I honestly thought she was still with me for the longest time. I was happy with her, thinking she was still with me…"

"Vash...I'm truly sorry," Belgium tried to restrain a sob. "I'd go mad too if I find Ned –" she broke off, stopping herself before she could shed any tears. Belgium sat heavily on a wood pile, covering her face with her hands. She started mumbling a few things but he couldn't hear through her muffling hands. It sounded like she was blaming herself for –

"You shouldn't have come save me…" he heard her say.

"Lili told me – well, I told myself I have to find anyone of our kind," Switzerland explained. "Help them and maybe they can help m–"

He cut himself off when he noticed Belgium shivering and yet, she didn't put on her military coat over her shoulders for warmth. "You should put on your jacket," he suggested. "It's starting to get cold out here." Belgium's face remained buried in her palms. She muttered something about why he was not crying as much, and he gave her a reply along the lines of, "I'm over it now. It's over."

Switzerland sat beside her, fiddling with Liechtenstein's ribbon. "Belgium, could you help me with something?"

The other Nation didn't stir, so he let his words pour.

"Once this is all over and once we find your brother, do you think you could you help me re-establish Liechtenstein and my country?"

Belgium lifted her head, and wiped away her prior emotions, her eyes were dazzling. " _Oui, Monsieur!_  I pledge to help!" she declared, a bit too loudly. "I thought I already did! The moment you –"

"Just don't get carried away," he chided, irritated from her sudden cheery outburst.

He strode towards their hideout. They found it unmoved. Everything was how they'd left it.

Stopping at the front of his tent-thing, Switzerland opened his palm, holding the ribbon. The velvet was not crumpled; it shone against his black-gloved hand, reminding him of the light his little sister had.

He heard a thumping noise above him. It was Belgium climbing into the cockpit for the night. He saw her stretching out extravagantly to the sky, and then, with arms folded under her chin, short messy brown hair in tangles, she glanced at him.

But then the Belgian looked away again, sadly reminded of her own brother. What struck Switzerland was the fact that the both of them had this really weird connection.  _Sibling senses._  He rolled his eyes.

He climbed over the wing and held out Liechtenstein's purple ribbon to her. "Tie this around your hair," he offered with a levelled tone.

Belgium's eyes widened. "I couldn't possibly –"

"I insist," he croaked.

Belgium bunched up her locks, and without a word she invited him to tie the ribbon around her hair instead of doing so herself. When he finished, she gave him a judgmental look, like he was doing something wrong.

He felt his fever rising. Drawing back he said, "Done! Now just go to sleep." He climbed out of the wing with haste, carefully leaping over the ailerons. He miscalculated his footing when he landed.

Switzerland brushed off the dirt from his knees and cleared his throat. "Go to sleep. I'll keep watch down here. You're piloting the plane tomorrow," he ordered. He heard Belgium let out a yawn, muttering, "If you say so." It took a moment for him to realize he was commanding her like Liechtenstein again.  _No_. She was someone else's sister. But that did not mean he couldn't protect her like he would his own.

A little hum sounded from the cockpit, making Switzerland unsheathe his gun in a split second.

" _Up above the young Rhine_  
 _Lies Liechtenstein, resting_  
 _On Alpine heights…"_

It sounded like Belgium's voice singing his sister's anthem; the celestial words echoed through the glass of the cockpit into his pounding ears. He was being haunted again.  _No_.  _Damn it, no more! It's over!_

Frightened, Switzerland retreated into his tent and lit a candle. That night he stayed awake for as long as he could, the recent events corrupting his sleepy thoughts. The fog, the bunker burning, the hoodlums, the yellow graffiti, the turbulent flight, the guns he'd stored away, the revelation of his rising fever, the emptiness of where they were, and the ribbon he lent Belgium...

He rested on his back, rifle tucked against his chest. Out of the blue, he realized he had forgotten one thing that had never worried him before.

A sound plopped on the tail wing above – acid rain.

The rain pelted, searing some of the wreckage over his head. Switzerland curled up in the shelter of the tent, watching the candlelight die before his eyes. He did not go out to patrol as he intended to that night. It was raining outside and he couldn't do anything but wait for the weather to lighten.

He worried for the canvas covers. Surely they could endure the acid? He thought of the rain being much more potent now than ever before.  _But maybe not by that much, right?_  He flinched from the notion. Belgium had mentioned it days ago, but he had dismissed its danger, focusing then on Liechtenstein's sketchbook.

The dark and the rain taunted him for hours. He shuddered at the thought of Nature disintegrating the whole aircraft and Belgium with it. Thunder and lightning followed. Sleep took over him by storm. At the strike of dawn, Switzerland bolted upright. Boots on, he ran outside, checking the puddles to see if they were as acidic as he thought. He daringly touched one with a bare finger. To his surprise, his finger only itched from its chemical compounds. Nothing harmful.

He looked at the Scarlet Baron and alarmingly noticed a change on the area where the cockpit was. Its top coverings were torn, the casing wide open like someone had left…or entered.

Tensed, Switzerland leaped over to investigate, his gun perked. He would shoot the first enemy he finds, and if Belgium had left –

Switzerland's heart raced. The cabin revealed to him emptiness; fresh blood was smeared all over. He flung himself to the other side of the plane and found a familiar trail: his worst nightmare.

Slick with the acid which had spited him last night were two bloody tracks of a truck. The vehicle itself was gone.

Belgium was gone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Goed! (Dutch for: Fine!)
> 
> Vereenigde Oost-Indische Compagnie (Dutch for: Dutch East India Trade Company 1602 *Rivaled with the British's East India Trade Company)
> 
> In Godsnaam! (Dutch for: For God's sake!)
> 
> Laat met rust! (Dutch for: Leave me alone!)
> 
> Oui, Monsieur! (French for: Yes sir!)


	10. The Gallows of Sanity

_"We have to distrust each other. It is our only defense against betrayal." - Tennessee Williams (American Playwright, 1911-1983)_

* * *

 

Romania notice Hungary lagging farther and farther behind. Turkey on the other hand managed to keep up alongside Bulgaria. There was still a long journey ahead and Romania had to keep everyone in shape for it, so there was no time to waste with dragging feet.

He halted the others and waited for Hungary. "Magyar, first you had some mood swings along the way. Now I'm beginning to think you're in your cramping stage."

Hungary took a moment to spew out green fluids before finally catching up with them. She was blushing, her hand clutching her stomach. "Idiot. Incase you've forgotten, I'm a  _girl_."

Turkey smiled impishly. "That's not what you used to say."

"Ugh! I know." Hungary dropped the backpack from her shoulders and started rummaging through. Instead of stealing things she searched it thoroughly for – "Do you have anything here for me…?"

The male Nations glanced at each other uneasily. Romania shrugged. "Magyar, do men carry around womanly needs in the middle of a survival trek in this  _manly_ , hellish, grim wasteland?"

Hungary laughed sarcastically. "Then I'll just go around bleeding everywhere, vampire. Just don't attack me in the middle of the night."

"WITCH! You did NOT just go there!"

Turkey chuckled. "I think she just did."

"You gobbling Sultan." Romania spun around to face him. "Whose side are you on?!"

"Hungary's."

"Oh yeah. You're with the Magyar-Muscle-Maid with moody mood swings and bleeding organs –"

"Here!" Bulgaria cut in. "I have some bandages!" He interrupted just as Hungary and Turkey were about to retaliate with even sillier, pointless insults at Romania. "Ro, just calm down! Turkey just be quiet. Hungary?" Bulgaria unraveled some bandages he'd pulled from his pants pockets and gave them to the Hungarian. Both Nations looked bashful for a moment that Romania couldn't help but laugh silently.

 _Now we really_ have to _get to Illes ASAP,_  he thought. It felt ironic to curse  _Mother Nature_  at a time like this.

They continued walking at an even brisker pace after Hungary's momentary pit stop. Bulgaria had more bandages and rags to spare, and decided to tie some around his arms like a ninja would for muscle tension. He had also thoughtfully reserved some rags for Hungary later, just in case. Romania smiled at this; Bulgaria's company really cheered him up. Compared to him, the Bulgarian looked like a pale, gaunt, dark-haired so-called 'ninja' with a spear sheathed behind his back.

 _Funny Bulgaria,_  Romania pondered with a smile. Earlier he'd proposed they were going back to the station at Arad for a quick shower. Everyone couldn't agree more the second he'd suggested the idea.

Problem was, barely anyone could keep up with their hygiene during apocalyptic travels anyway. In a hostile environment such as where they were in now, a person's worries were mostly on food, air and water supply, and to some extent, living conditions. Therefore a proper shower or compact wash was pretty much a luxury.

Romania did worry about sicknesses from the lack of bathing. The water bodies he'd encountered were littered with decomposing corpses; he wouldn't even go near them for the smell alone. But what else could he do, and what more could he provide besides enough purified water for thirsty tongues?

That sinking night the air was chilly and unusually fresh; a thin, misty frost coated some of the ashen earth. No one was wearing their gas masks tonight since the air wasn't dangerously oppressive in that particular area.

The group camped amidst a clearing of what used to be another forest. There were plenty of dead shrubbery and sticks fencing around them, so if anything came near within a mile the intruder would stumble upon the branches and they'd hear anyone coming.

Blankets covered the earth for their comfort, and their meager feast was nothing but leftover vegetable soup and canteens of warm water. Romania regretted throwing out Turkey's provisions a night ago. His rations were lessening, and he felt the need to restock. With troubling thoughts of inventory in mind, he started wondering about the on goings at Cluj with a sigh before settling down to rest.

Bulgaria said he'd rather sleep on the earth, while Hungary and Turkey settled at the far opposite; the Turk, leaned against a charred tree trunk and Hungary, a foot away from the man, and far enough from Romania.

 _I did not expect this_ , thought the Romanian. Who knew he would find three Nations in a span of a few weeks. Romania relaxing contentedly on his blanket, gulped down a can of cabbage soup. It was not his ideal dinner but for now it was satisfying. His better meals were back at Cluj and just the thought of finally heading back to the caves excited him. He was finally returning with Bulgaria by his side. The wheels were now set in motion for the road to Ukraine. Everything was running according to plan. So far.

Ukraine was the perfect safe zone for his band of survivors, he believed, and he felt certain his people were already prepared to leave their hideouts. But he had only been  _hoping_  so far. He believed in an impervious thought which he had very little knowledge of. There had been no reports from Russia, no word of Ukraine's whereabouts, and sadly nothing heard from Moldova's either. So…if the worse would come to light, Romania would keep his people in the caves.  _And then what?_

He had been keeping people alive in that cursed cave for three to four months now. No one suffocated, no one complained much, no one harmed each other and no one opposed… _Yet?_

Hope. Hope was the word. Romania furrowed his brows and closed his eyes, dwelling deep in several ideas, possible options, anything. He had not planned on keeping his people in the caverns for months and months, let alone years! They were a manageable folk but they could not live like this forever. They should be gathered up with other survivors, breathing fresh air outside, free, rebuilding homes, living happier lives...What else could he possibly –

"Hey." Bulgaria nudged him, interrupting his train of thought. "You look tense."

Romania sadly rubbed his eyes. "You have no idea, Bul…"

In the middle of the camp was a frail fire. Hungary had nearly shouted at them in protest because the light would attract intruders, but Romania argued, saying that there was nothing to worry about and Bulgaria strongly agreed. Hungary silenced herself then, and retreated to Turkey.

From the moment they had found Turkey and Bulgaria, Romania knew the group was going to be divided in two exactly like this. He did consider creating a strong allegiance between them all but he felt Hungary was very unpredictable.

"I'm craving for some fulfilling food right now," Romania blurted, his back sprawled on the ground beside his friend who was lounging upright against a boulder.

Bulgaria blinked. "You said there's more stuff to eat in this train you speak of."

"Oh yeah," yawned Romania, "Illes has a load full for himself. I'm sure we'll find something. We'll be there tomorrow bright and early."

The other Nation grinned. "Tomorrow it is."

"Yup."

"Do you need me to be on watch duty while you sleep, Ro?"

"Watch whatever and whoever, Bul. I'm going into 'slumber-mode'. Nocturnal vampires need beauty sleep."

"Okay," Bulgaria chortled. "But  _nocturnal_  vampires sleep during the day. Don't they?"

" _Shssssssshh!_  Let this adorable vampire sleep…"

"Right."

Romania listened to his friend's breathing. Although his back was turned to the Bulgarian, he felt every inhale and exhale like he was facing him and it sent waves of relief and fulfillment in his own system.  _We'll all be heading for the safe zone soon…_

The atmosphere stilled for a couple of hours until Bulgaria woke him up for his turn to watch. "That felt short," Romania complained.

Bulgaria said nothing to this; he was too drowsy to argue and the moment he fell on the earth, quiet snores escaped his nose, eyes immediately shut to rest.

Romania gazed around drowsily, wondering about the boredom his friend had just suffered. After an extensive yawn, he slowly got to his feet and pulled a blanket over the Bulgarian. All of a sudden he froze, paralyzed by a sound of light footfalls coming up from behind him. They sounded unnatural and almost ghostlike. He could feel himself tensing all over as his mind filled with frightful imaginations of a zombie, a ghost, a cannibal…

Heaving for a deep breath and chilled to the bone, he forced himself to turn around –

A face partly covered with wavy olive hair, eyes closed, frail body rocking in slow motion, moved toward him. He staggered backwards ultimately falling on Bulgaria's stomach, starling his friend wide awake and coughing.

"Holy  _MotherofVladimirTod!_ " Romania cried, stumbling over Bulgaria's torso. Their eyes bulged to plates at the sight of Hungary standing eerily before them, her face withdrawn and oblivious, and her eyes blind to their fright.

"Bul," Romania panicked, "What's up with her?!"

"Hungary has never sleepwalked before," Bulgaria trembled, reflecting his confusion. "Are  _you_  doing this?"

Romania gawked. "You know my whole vampire crap is a joke, right? And have you ever seen me perform witchcraft on  _anybody_?"

Bulgaria tilted his head. "Yes. To Arthur once..."

"Oh yeah…" he remembered. "But if I was doing this, why am I as scared of her as you –?"

Hungary padded past them, murmuring something in her language. She blindly raised her hands and felt around the air as if looking for a way out of the dreamy state. Romania and Bulgaria watched, petrified by her light-footed tread around the camp. She was barely making any noise except her footsteps and the soft mumbles coming from her mouth. Turkey was sound asleep, clueless.

"We shouldn't be the only ones to witness this," said Romania. "She wouldn't believe us if we tell her about this new behaviour –" he stood up and hurried over to Turkey's dormant form a few paces across – "but she'll believe _this_ Turkey jerky…"

Romania nudged the Turk with his boot. Turkey tensed for a second and blinked his eyes open. "Get up Turk," said Romania, helping the sleepy man up his feet. "I think you should see this."

When Turkey looked around he was confused. "Who am I lookin' at?" he asked sleepily.

Romania returned his attention to where Hungary and Bulgaria were. There was no one in sight. The camp was empty.

Bulgaria had probably followed the sleep-walking Hungarian somewhere, but they couldn't be too far away, it was just difficult to see in the dark.

All of a sudden a gasp tore the silence, emanating from somewhere amidst the trees. Scuffling of feet followed, then branches crunching.

Without further ado, Romania rushed to the source, Turkey at his heels creating enough noise to wake the dead with his limping.

Romania glanced over at the Turk. "You need me to drag you, wild turkey?"

"I'll race ye there," challenged the masked Nation, giving him a weak smile.

The second they detected two familiar figures, their light mood vanished. Hungary looked fast asleep, her arms around a short boulder in a tight embrace, fingers scratching its rough surface. Bulgaria was crouched before the Hungarian, cupping her pretty face with his calloused hands; he was intently staring at her.

Romania stifled a laugh to break what looked like a flirtatious examination of 'doctor Bulgaria'. "I know you two like each other, but here and right now, Bul? Then again, the moonlight's up…" When Bulgaria did not look up he ludicrously cleared his throat and continued, "Look how charming that rock is in between you two! Is it your new pet? Couples share pets right? Pet rocks, yeah? Let me take it from here –"

Deaf to his blathering, Bulgaria faced them. "Wake her up," he demanded, taking his hands off Hungary.

"What happened here?" Turkey asked forcefully.

"Ro, you said you've encountered Hungarian cannibals, correct?" Bulgaria's look was plastered with a strange familiarity; Romania had seen it before, but he couldn't quite put a finger to when…

"Ugh…Yeah, I told you," he said. "Her country's – Wait – you mean to say Hungary's –?"

"Cannibalistic," Bulgaria plainly stated, repeating the word like a he was broken record. "Cannibalistic. Hungary's turning cannibalistic, I think…cannibalistic…"

"That's a little far fetch," Romania scoffed, thinking about the syringe the Hungarian kept in her possession. There was a moment when he had questioned her about it in the train. She'd refused to explain what the green drug was for. It was only out of fairness he'd returned it to her after receiving no proper explanation, since  _he_ had acted the same towards her. Now was the time she should really reveal the drug.

"I think she's hiding something," he suggested. "There's this drug she has, perhaps its one of the causes."

Bulgaria scratched his head. "You didn't say anything about her taking drugs or..."

"I didn't think it'd be important to mention up until now! I thought it was just one of her womanly stuff."

Turkey interposed, "I second Bulgaria on this cannibalism thing…Hungary has told me 'bout how horrific her people had turned. I guess it makes sense  _she's_  turnin' odd…Ye know, in due time, we can suffer similar illness to that of our people…" Turkey's intense gaze settled on them, and then he lifted his sleeves to fully display the burnt marks along his skin. "I have my own problems," he sighed gravely. "Betcha, I got more 'n me I don't know about.

"Nations 're sick at this time so we oughtta get 'nough rest…and make life worth it th' next mornin'. Now if ye 'xcuse me…I need some more sleep." The man inattentively placed a hand on Romania's shoulder, nodded to him, and then hobbled back to the camp.

From that moment, Romania could see a burden underneath Turkey's trademark white-masked façade. The man was suffering from the sad news of lost friends, and through it all, was a limping man who longed for his old life before this Calamity – a man who longed for healing.

Romania rubbed his neck, feeling a tinge of regret for his ignorance. Sure he had been somewhat ill-mannered to the Turkish Nation, but it was only for light-hearted amusement.

"He's right Ro," Bulgaria bounded to the Turk's side. "I'm tired too."

Romania did not move a muscle. They were leaving him with a Hungarian dozing on a rock. That means he would be the only one to drag the Magyar-Muscle-Maid back to the camp by himself. He incredulously crowed, "You two are just going to leave me here with  _her_?! What if I get ' _eaten'_ by this Magyar?!"

"You know how to wake her up more than we do," Bulgaria said over his shoulder, clearly unfazed by his joke on being 'eaten'. Instantly Turkey halted, vying spirit bloomed on his face.

"Hey! I can wake her up just as easy!" the Turk contested, striding past Romania then standing over Hungary's figure. "I could even carry her back to the camp! Watch!"

"What about your burn marks…?" Romania worried – though he was slightly impressed by the man's spontaneous bravado.

Turkey laughed over what he thought was a tease. The minute he lifted Hungary's arm, she whipped up violently. Her free solid fist hammered the Turk's jaw, knocking him out cold. Her second blow to his stomach left him winded and crippled on the ground. Hungary had her mouth gapping open as if to scream, her whole being was tensed. Turkey's fallen body tripped her and she gasped wide-awake on top of the unconscious Turk, her eyes in full circles. "Sadık!" sounded like a hiss in her tongue.

Bulgaria ran to Turkey's side as Hungary stumbled back, realizing what she did. Romania clucked, "Well thank goodness I didn't try waking you up." Hungary looked at him bewildered. He noticed her face was a shade paler than usual. "I mean, really Magyar, some people would just shake awake from sleepwalk but no, not you. You punch and clobber awake."

She appeared to be at a loss of words but her mouth stammered for answers. "Could – could someone aside from you, explain to me what just happened? Why did I – ?" Bewildered, Hungary's hands leaped to her head. "What just –?"

Bulgaria quietly murmured, "She doesn't remember."

Romania watched Hungary pace back and forth. "Magyar –"

"Don't even bring up my bloody thing Romania!" Hungary yelled.

"Geez, Maygar calm down!" he hushed, "I know your bloody pouring is NOT the stupid factor at play here. I was gonna ask if you had a terrible nightmare."

Hungary faltered in her tracks. "Well – No. I had a dreamless sleep! I swear – I –!"

"You sure?"

She hesitated. Romania took the chance to circle her like a vulture would a prey.

"You're hiding something Magyar."

Hungary shot her piercing green eyes at him. "You hide a lot of things yourself Alexandru."

Romania stiffened. He had never heard her speak his first name like that for centuries. She had normally called him nicknames the way he did her.  _Ha, ha! The last time she'd called me by my name was when we were kids._

Turkey woke up mumbling, rubbing his sore jaw; Bulgaria was encouraging him to his feet. There was tension in the air and both Nations did not want to disrupt Romania and Hungary.

With a flick of his wrist and a pull on his sleeve, Romania flourished a syringe out of the dark, his sharp tooth glinting at the sight. It was Hungary's syringe that she dearly kept to herself.

Hungary frantically dug through her pockets, and then her eyes widened. "How did you –?"

" _Tsk, tsk_. It was just a simple bit of street magic, five-year-olds could do it," Romania beamed. "Now tell us what this is before I break it."

"Hey Hungary…what's up?" Turkey cut in, propping upright with Bulgaria's help.

Hungary's shoulders drooped. Instead of attempting to retake the syringe from Romania, she remained where she stood, diminished and numb from her sleepwalk.

Romania theorized, "Perhaps this had something to do with your new behaviour. Remember I did say you were getting weirder and weirder than normal, Magyar. You were never  _this_  unpredictable before. And I wonder if this needle contains a drug that makes you do things…"

"It's nothing!" Hungary insisted, trying to hide a cough. Her eyes flitted to each of them. "That's something personal! Can't we talk about this another time?"

"What's it do?" Turkey wondered.

"I'm sorry but I don't want to involve you in its business, Sadık. It's troubling."

"You can tell me."

"Now? – but – can't I –"

Romania grew impatient, raising the syringe above a jagged boulder. "Magyar, I'm breaking this open…"

"NO! PLEASE, STOP!" Hungary cried, her hands balled to fists, but she did not make a move to steal back her treasure. Her body shook, weakened, and ready to crumble if anything were to happen to the syringe and its contents inside.

 _She should've been on me already if she really wanted this back,_  Romania thought hard.  _What's stopping her? Had her nightmare taken a toll on her? Was she really turning cannibalistic? Hard to tell what's with her…_

"Magyar, is there something really wrong?" he asked gently.

Hungary glanced at Bulgaria and Turkey – the eve of night hid their expressions in the dark. They waited for her to answer.

"There's a lot to tell you," she fretted, giving Romania a softer gaze. Her eyes looked innocent and her voice sounded so pure, he was almost convinced he'd been awfully unjust to her. "I think Romania and I need to talk for a moment in private."

Romania let out a frivolous laugh with a smile, exclaiming, "No! Bulgaria and Mister Gobblesworth shall stay a while. They should know why you turned so strange tonight. You know, I'm surprised you'd rather share information with me than with your old allies, Turkey and Bul –"

Bulgaria nudged Turkey. "Sadık, I think its best we leave them be." Then the Turk whispered back, "This is so interestin' to watch though."

Hungary exhaled angrily. "God damn it, Romania! Respect my conditions!"

"They stay awhile and listen," smiled the Romanian, threatening to break the needle again, but Hungary maintained her rigid pose, eyes glossing with tears.

"Stop it! Just –"

"Explain this right now..."

"Can't you and I –"

"Speak now or forever hold your peace…"

Bulgaria cut them off. "Ro, just do what she says."

"Bul, aren't you curious too?"

"Yeah, but –"

Turkey turned to leave. "Oooohkay, I'm sleepy."

Romania stopped him. "Turkey bird, stick around and she'll tell you why she punched you."

Hungary made a frustrated noise. "They leave!"

"They stay, Magyar."

"I said I need to speak with you  _in private! Please!_  It's hard enough for me to ask that already!"

"I believe they have the right to know too."

"Is this gonna go on forever?" Bulgaria frowned, exchanging glances with Turkey. Both understood each other's wishes, and they started to edge distantly away from the two tensed Nations.

Romania tapped the syringe against a harder surface, intending to break it this time. "Magyar, we're waiting for your lovely explanation. Why the weird sleepwalk, and why the secrecy over this glowing goo prick?"

Hungary composed herself with a ragged breath before she suddenly moved towards him. " _Dear Romania_..." Her voice changed to a sweet honeyed tone, sounding unusually gentle and melodic –  _wait, what's she doing?_

" _Oh, how my body under this…brassiere crave your gentle touch_ ," she purred, swiftly closing in on him until they were inches apart, her eyes hypnotic, and her moves captivating.

Stupefied, Romania shuffled back against a charred tree trunk, she was too close, but he held the syringe far enough away from her. "Crap Magyar, what are you –"Her hand slipped to his palm. Flushed, he winced from the contact as she slowly pried the needle from his gloved fingers. He could taste her breath a couple of inches from his mouth. "You smell terrible," he uttered, though he knew he was just the same to her.

"Aren't you a  _romantic_ Romanian?" she murmured. Her free hand fingered the collar of his jacket, magnetic eyes locked unto his.

Romania's face burned. He repelled from her heat as she pressed even closer, pinning him numb against the tree. "I don't count you as a lady to flirt with, for fuc –" She pressed a finger to his lips, stunning him silent. Her whispering words were a hair away from his ear, their cold cheeks brushed against each other to ignite further hate. "Watch your language, Alexandru..."

He did not know whether to pull away or just bite her neck to get rid of her.  _Geez,_ that _would be such a joke – an ironic twist to my own pretense,_ he gritted his teeth. He did not know if he was being harassed or tempted, either way, he disliked the feeling of her this close. This breath-to-breath close.

"Bulgaria, Turkey –" she turned to the two observing Nations, "– are you two going to watch our little private 'heart-to-heart' chat?"

Turkey grinned excitedly for a second, but Bulgaria pulled him away quickly and they vanished into the darkness.

Without hesitation Hungary recoiled far away from Romania as if he was a sticky, sweaty beast. Her face displayed revulsion and Romania mirrored it.

"Magyar, 'my body under this  _whateveryoujustsaid_ ' did not make an ounce of sense!" Romania lolled his tongue out like it was tainted; her breath was toilet water to his taste buds.

"I forced myself to do that to make them leave!" Hungary told him, slipping the needle in her pocket. "Ugh! I only resort to that tactic when necessary, and I tend to do that against Prussia. Sometimes Austria and I would –"

"I don't wanna know and I don't care." Romania had to admit, she was a very good actress. He brushed up every spot on his face, glove and jacket and wherever else Hungary touched – to him, his face and clothes were contaminated by a dangerous virus. He shuddered at a hilarious, childish thought of Hungarian cooties. "Guuuuuuh! I think I just got sexually harassed –"

"Oh stop it! You've had girls tease you before," Hungary snarled.

"Remember what I  _do_  care about is that syringe you keep," he reminded her, diverting the topic. "I still have some pranks and magic tricks up my sleeve if you don't –"

"All right! Well, I  _did_  have a nightmare!" she snapped. Hungary slumped on a rock, looking resigned and miserably drained as if every word was too much effort to say. Hair fell on her face hiding all feeble expressions. "My dream had  _you_  in it…It was a memory of us when we were kids. I found you and…and a young Gilbert there. But that's not the nightmare I mean."

Romania bit his tongue. It felt like the wrong time to distract her with a jeering comment about their childhood.  _That explains why she's said my real name recently,_  he reflected.  _Should I ask her about it? Pfft. No. Not yet. Things might get awkward._ "How about the sleepwalking?" he asked sheepishly.

"I didn't know what I was doing," she replied. "I believe it was when my nightmare started that I got up subconsciously. My nightmare was terrible: Gilbert was swallowed up by a bloody creature – I didn't understand – and then all of a sudden I was buried in that ditch of bodies again. Someone dug me out moments later and…I was surprised with who found me." Romania looked away.

"It was  _Bulgaria_  who pulled me out of that ditch instead of you," Hungary whispered. Romania felt his mouth twitch with bafflement, though he remained silent as she continued. "Bulgaria looked like himself: smiling, happy and just himself until he took something out of his pocket. He held up my syringe and then his face changed – it was horrific! He looked like a haunting demon with sharp serrated teeth! He injected himself and disappeared before I could jump him…and then  _I_ changed.

"I felt myself changing into…into something else.

"Ever since I left the ditch, I started dreaming these memory-like fantasies. A couple of times it felt so vivid like I was back in the moment. Gilbert had been appearing in these delusions as a Teutonic Knight, and he'd shown me instances I've overlooked, missed, or forgotten…

"The first night he had approached me, he reminded me of the early months of my country's state. My people turned rabid and I think I might've turned – You've mentioned it before haven't you? I think I may have really –  _Istenem,_  I – I'm so confused!" She paused. "You're right, Romania."

"Magyar, wait a minute –"

"You're right about everything! I think I've turned desperate until I fell in that sinkhole!"

"Magyar –"

"You said you've found me in there after you've sent more people in that ditch! That god-forsaken sinkhole!"

"Listen –"

"I was too stubborn to listen! I didn't want to believe it! I kept denying it! I had probably led people to die there in the first place! There was nothing left! People were dying, some became hopeless –"

"Hungary!"

"You're winning this hell of a game, all right?!" Salty tears cascaded down her cheeks like a waterfall. Every tear was shed for the friends she missed. Every tear fell for the heartbeats left to silence in that sinkhole.

At that moment Romania felt a pang of sadness and pity for her, mixed with remorse and… _oh that brutal word_  'guilt'. He rolled his eyes and decided to leave her alone for a little bit to calm herself. He hurried back to camp; found Turkey sleeping and Bulgaria sitting beside the man, observing him snore.

 _I should tell him he was in Hungary's weird nightmare,_ Romania mused distractedly. Setting aside his gas mask, he picked up Hungary's and searched for a canteen of water.

Bulgaria looked up at him. "Ro, how's it going with her?"

Romania smirked deviously. "I made her cry."

Bulgaria made a face of sheer confusion, making Romania laugh for a moment. Then the fanged-Nation simply rushed back to the Hungarian, carrying water and her mask.

"What're you up to?" she inquired the second he emerged. Reminded of their childhood conflicts by that mere question, he didn't answer.

It was a blurry memory, but he could remember the events like it had happened just yesterday. How he'd met Hungary so long ago was one of those things he would never truly forget no matter how hard he tried. Back then, she was just a blooming little tyke, gender-confused and angry, and it was  _she_  who approached  _him_ , obligated to fight and plunder him without mercy. She was the one who made the first bloody move – that first single bone-crunching blow to his face.

There was that one instance when she'd held something away from him. _That golden amber token of Transylvania,_ he recalled _. The same gold-amber badge he'd found in that Council Hall's exhibit room._ She had held it away from him, and no matter how hard he had tried, he hadn't had the strength to retake it until years did not bode well, their friendship spiraled down into the void of hatred, and as much as they'd tried to get along peacefully, there was just that wall – a wall that never changed in size or thickness. No matter how hard one or the other would layer it or break it, it tore down to be the same, and it built up to be the same. The wall could not be modified, which frustrated one or the other more often than they would admit. It was that single thing that kept them distant from each other. It was a fury, a grudge and a constant fuss. A fuss concealed beneath a visage of civility before their peers.

There had always been a fuss, and it would forever remain. And with that, they wove their relationship around it like creeping vines would a fence or wall. Tonight, the fuss was the syringe.

He did not hesitate to approach Hungary. He not only gave her a gas mask but also made her gulp down the water from the canteen. "All right," he said, hands on hips. "Now that you've spilled some  _water_  and quenched yourself with  _tears_ , will you finally explain this needle you've been hiding?"

Hungary eluded his gaze; she murmured something about the grammatical nonsense of the scrambled words 'water' and 'tears'.

"Magyar." He sat in front of her, cross-legged. "I've hidden tons of secrets of my survival, but I believe I've revealed to you almost all of them. I've told you about the trains, my patrol men, my plans, caves, trade routes, travels, and Illes.

"I haven't mentioned the boats, so here it is: I've been harboring a couple of boats around the waterlogged areas. Just a couple. Nothing fancy – old fashioned ones. They're safely hidden from intruding eyes. There's one situated farther northeast while another is a little ways east from here, docked by the newly expanded Danube. We could go up there shortly after checking in on Illes…"

The Hungarian finally met his eyes.

"Magyar the least you could do for me, is share the secret of your drug," Romania said. Then he suddenly caught the stupidity of his sentence, and stammered, "Ugh – okay, that came out wrong."

For the first time, Hungary gave him a genuine smile. She reluctantly pulled out the needle. "You're not concerned about my nightmare at all? Why?"

"What – of Bulgaria?" he squeaked. Romania _was_  interested in knowing more, but he did not feel entirely concerned. He was much more intrigued with the importance of her syringe. "You said you dreamt of Gilbert too. Personally, I don't want to know who else you've dreamt of in your head. I mean, for all I care you'd probably dreamt of Gilbert and Bulgaria naked. Geez, I don't even want to know how you dreamt me." Hungary looked alarmed. "Magyar, having dreams of naked men is nothing to be ashamed of. It's just one of those things that happen for women, okay?"

Hungary's cheeks reddened. "That's completely not it! I told you, it was just a stupid childhood memory, not anything –"

With a flick of dexterous fingers, the needle appeared in Romania's procession once more. "So what about this anyway that only I can know?"

Hungary sighed, agitated by the silly magic trick yet again. There was a momentary pause before she finally turned to the subject at hand. "I could tell Turkey about that needle," she started, "but he's already burdened with his injuries. Telling him about this would not help him because it's not a cure. This will just be sad information to him, really."

"Makes sense. I'm starting to worry about that guy," Romania replied, making the needle disappear from his palms, and then retrieving it from behind Hungary's ear – a cheesy magic trick he'd learned long ago. "And let me guess. You don't want to tell Bulgaria because you think your nightmare might come true? You think he'll inject this glowing goo prick in his system?"

"It's called the 'Immunity'," Hungary said tartly, "and yes, I don't trust Bulgaria at all, and I don't think you should either."

Ignoring her comment, Romania balanced the syringe on one finger tip. The instant Hungary reached for it, it vanished before her eyes. He grinned. "So, what's this Immunity do?"

Hungary frowned. "Honestly, stop ignoring the fact that you've noticed Bulgaria acting strange! I'm serious!"

"Magyar, I just want to know more about the Immunity at the moment. Stop ignoring the fact that you're ignoring my questions about it."

Hungary rubbed her temples in exasperation. "The Immunity is the drug that has been causing me to hack out that weird phlegm," she started. "It was scientifically designed by none other than my ex-husband, Roderich, and it was to keep him and I – and Gilbert – alive through the events of the disaster and its aftermath. If we were to fall unconscious for a lengthy period of time, this what-you-call 'glowing-prick' would mechanize our bodies internally to feed, work, and operate, until we're wide awake again. Disgusting, but it's possible for our kind, that is.

"Furthermore, it cleans our lungs and filters it out, that explains my coughing fits. I think it also protects us from radiation and feverish temperatures. But I think there are major side effects. In particular, the fluids trigger vivid dreams –"

"Irrational sense," Romania gibed, "not to mention mood swings, hunger problems, whines…"

Hungary frowned. "You get it."

Romania got up and returned her the Immunity. He slightly feared it, and besides, the so-called Immunity was not his business to dive into. "I don't like it, Magyar. A drug is a drug. You'll be driven insane even more than you already are."

"Yes, well, at least I still have my sanity," she retorted. "I'm stable. But Bulgaria –"

Romania yawned loudly on purpose. "Could we leave  _that_  topic for tomorrow? Our friends are sleepin' back there and I think my watch duty has been long past already. I trust you'll keep watch. I'm off to sleep."

As he was leaving, Hungary furiously blocked his tracks. "Listen, Romania." Her tone was severe. "Are you not at all suspicious of Bulgaria? He's been acting strange. I don't trust him, from the beginning he's joined us! You shouldn't trust him so easily!"

"This coming from someone who tried to kill me," Romania shot back, "and who tried to steal from me several times. Not to mention try to seduce me –"

"Where do you think he's gotten a spear? You haven't noticed his teeth? Or the smell of his breath?"

"Magyar, what in the world do you think we do? Make-out? Bite each other's necks?" He laughed. "You know I'm no vampire."

Hungary looked hurt. "No! Oh, for once, please! Consider the possibility that something's wrong with him!"

Romania relaxed his shoulders. Unable to face her pleading eyes, he looked past her to the direction of where the camp was. It was true; he had not questioned the spear, or the tattered suit and bandages woven around the arms of his Bulgarian friend. But it wasn't like those weren't essentially needed to survive this aftermath. Then again… _Could it be...? He did eat his portion of the rations right? And how did he even guess Hungary's state earlier? The repeated word he's said like a mantra, 'cannibalism'…_

He scrutinized Hungary, eyes narrowing to slits. "If you don't trust Bulgaria so much, Magyar, why did you leave him alone with Turkey?"

Surprisingly Hungary did not panic, she'd simply put on the gas mask. "If Bulgaria was to do anything stupid it wouldn't be this early. Bulgaria still believes you trust him after all."

"' _After all'_ ," Romania grunted. "That's a funny way to put it. Bulgaria and I are friends  _after all_  we've been through. I still trust him, Magyar. Don't think that a little bit of your spells are able to convert me. Between you and I you've been the mistrustful one  _after all_." He shoved her aside and lightly treaded back to camp, Hungary followed trying to bringing up the childhood memory again.

Romania shushed her when they reached the clearing. Now was not the time to bring up what happened in the past. He needed some rest.

When they returned Bulgaria immediately sprang to his feet the second he noticed them. The Bulgarian appeared to be where Romania remembered; watching over the Turk's sleeping body.

Bulgaria cleared his throat. "Everything okay with you two?"

"We had a wonderful time fooling around and she exhausted me," Romania answered drowsily. Instead of laughing, he yawned again, and then finally dropped on his blanket, shutting his eyes and submitting to sleep instantly.

He could hear Hungary take command. "I'm keeping an eye out," she claimed. Bulgaria's murmuring response was, "I cleaned Turkey's wound by the way, so don't worry about him tonight." Hungary mumbled something about the Turk. "I worry about him, too," Bulgaria remarked. Footsteps stopped near Romania's blanket and then a rustling noise indicated Bulgaria was settling down to sleep near him.

Opening one eye to a mere slit, Romania found his friend's sleeping face in front of him. All of a sudden the Bulgarian licked his lips – Romania swore there was twinkle of scarlet in between his teeth.

 _I'm just imagining it,_ his mind rung.  _Cursed Magyar! She's trying to break my friendship with Bul!_ Romania shifted uneasily and tossed to the other side.  _But I can't help but wonder how possible it was for Bulgaria to turn bloody…_ all over again...

The whole night he tossed and turned, restless by noises of scuffling and snapping. An uncomfortable rest it was, with the feeling of dread and confusion gnawing every blood and bone in his body. He wasn't even sure he'd slept. Bloody war torn years flashed in his brain throughout the course of the night. It seemed like it had only been a couple of hours before he jumped awake. Romania rubbed his eyes so hard that the fading blue eye spots frightened him when he blinked around the empty clearing –

He noticed Turkey hobbling around practicing his walk, a respiratory mask strapped to his face. Hungary and Bulgaria were no where to be seen and instantly, Romania panicked.

"Turkey, where are the others?"

Turkey glanced at him like a child entertained by a jack-in-the-box. "Bulgaria's off takin' a piss, Hungary scouted ahead. Why?"

Romania was not relieved just yet. He packed up his things, slung them on his back, and surveyed the area for footsteps. He was not sure what he was thinking about. Concern and disbelief clouded his thoughts. He sensed someone's presence flickering nearby which felt familiar, but Hungary's –

Feeling the dirt with his finger tips, he gasped. The heartbeats were fast. Suddenly the rhythm disappeared. Then it was back. Another one seemed so faded. One of them must be somewhere quite far. They did camp near the train station and maybe one of them had already reached Illes.

Wait a minute. He sensed movement.

Something was wrong.

Curious of what he was doing with the dirt, Turkey joined his side, smiling. "I know the ground's dirty, right?"

"I'm just trying to see if I can locate them," Romania explained; this was his country they were standing on, and 'sensing' was one way to find his kind. A Nation-being could sense another Nation's presence on their turf, though the feeling could be unclear depending on the distance between and the beating of the other's heart. "I think I know where they are. Do you have your things with you? Let's hurry."

"Yeah," Turkey replied, gazing around the campsite one more time. "You know I think Bulgaria had left with his spear already. 'nd he's got all his stuff with him."

Romania stared blankly at the path ahead. Turkey asked him if he was all right, but before he could come up with a reply, his legs bolted forward, following the traces where the two heartbeats were pulsing.

He paled. The direction was towards the train station.

He made a run for it, accidentally forgetting about Turkey. Immediately he stopped dead hearing the Turk yell, "Alex! Shit, wait!" Far away behind him, he could see the Turk's small figure making way through the thin grey line of trees, his curses sounded muffled.

There was a trail leading to the lonely broken structures of the train station where Romania had left Illes and one of his trains. It had been two days already. Untouched by disaster, the metal and stone locomotive waited for them to return to Cluj.

Turkey exhaustedly staggered to his side, heaving for air. Romania petted his back. "Hey, you wanted a challenge, Sadık," he grinned.

"I'm good," puffed the Turk, giving a thumbs up after a few quaking breaths. "You know what, I oughtta sit out for a bit...stretch me calf muscles, 'nd stuff…"

Romania led him to a jutting stone to rest while he rushed to the station. He could sense the two other Nations just around the corner. But what caught his eye was a red smear in one of the ruined walls. It used to be the building post for tickets, but all that was left was metal, concrete and wood holding up the corners – and one side had a bloody brush of a hand print.

He heard a cry and decided to follow it, walking alongside an ominous trail of bloody droplets. There was the familiar sight of the  _Dacia_   _Express_ , its wagons left in its functional, half-decent condition as before, except –

Except for one of them.

The engine car.

He swallowed thickly. Romania noticed blood streaming down its wide open doors. The door was off its hinges and he could hear sobs coming from inside the room. The two heartbeats were strongly radiating from there.

Bulgaria and Hungary.

Romania cautiously approached, unsheathing one of his trusty pistols. He jumped at the sight of the Hungarian bloodied, kneeling beside a lifeless body of a familiar friend. The whole room was smeared with several handprints of blood. There was a splatter of struggle and pain at every wall. Bulgaria loomed over them, like a shepherd with a clean white spear.  _What just happened?_

Romania felt the wind knock right out of him, as if he was punched right in the lungs. The scene looked so strange and so bloody confusing.

Mask gone, Hungary's face and clothes were soiled with blood and tears. She was sobbing hard by the peaceful body of Illes Németh. Her hands wrapped around his cold fingers, her mouth trembling with shock and red.

Romania's legs weakened. Bulgaria, looking like a supervisor with an unreadable straight face, noticed him collapse to his knees.

Bulgaria approach him. The Bulgarian's spear, which he suspected was the weapon here if Hungary were to accuse, had no blood stains. None on his shirt either. Nothing. Bulgaria looked hollow when he addressed him, "I'm sorry, Ro..."

"Hey Bulgaria!" Turkey called, making his way slowly to the scene of the crime. " _My Allah_ , what happened? Hungary, is this…?" The Hungarian ran to him, red tainting his overcoat as she wept in his embrace.

Romania evaded Bulgaria's eyes and deafened his ears from Hungary's whimpers. Standing up he inspected Illes' corpse, trying hard not to choke on the lump forming in his throat. Although he had not personally known the man, he felt sadness over the innocent father who had offered his life to serve and aid him. By the looks of the blood-stained room, Illes had died a violent death, probably cornered and bludgeoned. The man did not deserve this. He had died alone.

Illes had something wrapped in one of his jacket pockets. Carefully and respectfully, Romania fished it out. It was a flower fashioned from a white kerchief, tied together by an elastic band and a red and green-striped hairpin. He suddenly remembered Hungary and Illes' conversation about flowers and his daughter. The hairpin was all that Illes had had left of his daughter. Romania closed his eyes to a thought of the father finally reuniting with his family.

He tucked the man-made accessory in his coat and smiled weakly, understanding to who it should be given to.

With Bulgaria's discreet help, they concluded the death was from a bloody attack when Illes was out patrolling. He was attacked by a clumsy group who sloppily left trails. Maybe it was out of random and on purpose...?

Wounded by someone – or some _thing_ , Romania considered– Illes had tried fighting back but the engine car only had much room to struggle in. The man had hoped to turn on the engine and haul the train back to an attended station, or he had probably tried to reach for an alarm to attract a patrol, or maybe even Romania. But unfortunately he had died on the spot before anything else could be done. From the skin and body temperature of his corpse, Illes had died a couple of hours before dawn that day and it was dark then.

What confused Romania was the purpose of the attack and the question why the attacker would leave the most precious treasure of all. The  _Dacia_ _._

As he inspected every inch of the untouched train wagons, Romania's mind wandered with every step. He regretted the fact that they took too long afar from the train. He regretted not taking Turkey to the station the moment they'd found him. They should have been here. There  _was_ a possibility of something like this to happen, but why had he ignored it? He felt so stupid. He should never have left Illes to this fate. There was now a possibility that the attacker –these villains – followed the railroad tracks to his beloved –

No.

Bulgaria and Hungary. He could blame those two, right? Actually he could blame Turkey too, for some reason. But no. Bulgaria and Hungary were his two main suspects. Hungary had said Bulgaria was not to be trusted. Then again Hungary was not to be trusted either. So was Turkey.  _I don't know who to fucking trust anymore!_

Romania could question everything about Hungary and her motives, but it was hard to believe she would harm her own people unless she  _was_  turning _?_  And he could no longer help but suspect the same for his old companion, Bulgaria: the unusual looks he gave to Hungary and Turkey, and the twinkle of scarlet... _I don't know who to trust – UGH!_ He rammed his fists hard against metal. The hit echoed throughout the silent station and he ignored the pain stinging his knuckles.

_Crap. There's a possibility that the attacker is on their way to Cluj – I need to breathe._

Romania climbed on a solid roof of one of the train wagons. He could overlook the whole landscape from the height. Up here, the world was calm; peaceful enough to take in a deep breath from the scene below. He could see Turkey comforting Hungary, and Bulgaria hauling out Illes' body out of the train, as Romania had ordered him to.

Bulgaria wiped the old man clean and together with the Turk, they dressed him for a proper burial. Hungary did not help them; she was trying to recover from the bloody murder. Apparently, she said she'd scouted so far from the camp that, by accident, she'd found her way to the station sooner than the others. When she had searched for Illes she was greeted by the horrific sight of his corpse.

Clearing his head, Romania acknowledged the others, and leaped down the wagon to join them. "Thanks for doing this for me, guys," he said in a quieter voice than usual. Bulgaria looked at him thoughtfully; a familiar expression momentarily plastered on his face, and then it suddenly vanished – like a flickering heartbeat.  _There, then gone._

They planted a wooden cross on a mound of dirt a few paces from the train. "Ro, I'm really sorry," his old friend said sadly, but Romania shrugged it off. "Would you like us to start our prayers?" asked the Bulgarian with a lighter tone.

"Sounds good," Romania hoarsely replied. That familiar expression Bulgaria had given him confirmed his fears.  _There, then gone._ That was the face of the Bloody Bulgaria he'd known a long time ago.

He stepped by Bulgaria's side – his friend placed a consoling arm around him; Hungary could barely look at him, and Turkey's face appeared lost in a void. Romania looked down at the grave severely as a foreboding dread settled in.  _My beloved Cluj is in terrible danger..._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Vladimir Tod (Referencing a vampire character to the American novels "Eight Grade Bites" by Heather Brewer)
> 
> Dacia Express (Correct me if I'm wrong but I believe the Dacia Express is the train system from London to Romania. It links to a bunch of smaller railroads in the country too. There's most likely a track branching to Cluj)
> 
> Bloody Bulgaria (Bulgarian Horrors in May 1876, against Ottoman rule. Bulgaria had one of the bloodiest revolutions in its time, ladies and gents.)
> 
> I included my own head cannon in here about the Nations being able to 'sense' someone like them in their country. I hope you don't mind.
> 
> Also I mentioned Hungary's childhood memory here with Romania. YES! It will all be in detail, revealed in a future chapter ways away. I think rearranging things would work quite well. Right now she's only mentioned it, but all will be revealed!


	11. His Anfractuous Design

The Scarlet Baron was about to endure the ultimate test: to be driven mad. An odd way to put it, but that was what Switzerland was thinking as he strapped himself in the pilot's seat. Certainly, he was going to be noticed and gunned down at some point. From the floors and walls in the cabin, the blood prints told him the whole story. There was a brawl. Belgium fought and maybe she'd lost the battle. Someone took her and whoever did was too stupid to ransack the luggage carrier filled with his leftover weapons.

Bloody tracks were engraved in the ash, sopped with last night's drizzling acid. The events continuously replayed in his mind, lingering on the things that went terribly wrong. It was a night of noise: pounding rain had masked the sounds of intruders and the restful sleep had swallowed him until he was in the dark. He was deafened and blinded and he wasn't able to do anything.

She could have slept in his tent; even if that option felt awkward to him, it would have at least ensured her safety by his side. It was his fault, his fault, his fault. He should have done this, he should have done that. It was driving him insane.

The mass of metal tore off from its position – camouflage no longer mattered. Switzerland gripped the wheel, ignited the last bits of fuel and raised the plane above ground. Even with the straps on, the lift was tossing his bones in his body. At least that kept him alert to the state of two things: the plane and himself.

He planned to fly low to keep eye on the tracks that stole the Belgian away. It would be dangerous, but it was a risk he was willing to take.

The aircraft was as hard to control as it was turbulent with every tilt of the wing and smite of the air currents. He had no idea how Belgium had managed to feel so composed when she flew this horrific hunk of metal with such speed. Switzerland believed he was just rusty behind the wheel after not piloting a plane for years. On the other hand, Belgium claimed she hadn't flown in a long time either, yet she had no problem with the Scarlet Baron like this.

She was not even here and Switzerland still felt  _intimidated_  by her, like she was out of his league. With Liechtenstein, he felt like he had some more authority over her since he acted as her older brother. However, it was different with Belgium. He felt like he treated the girl like he would Lili, but there was just something more to Belgium than he had never known. Aside from her sweetness like Liechtenstein, the Belgian had demonstrated her strength and independence, and that impressed him – that even intrigued him at some point.

He pushed his emotions aside and flew onwards. The plane swiftly steered through the wind, coursing alongside the fading tracks below. His mission was to find her and protect her. He had promised his own sister he would.  _I promised her._

After a while he stopped caring about who he was specifically referring to with that three-word pledge. Recently lot had become important to him lately and he found himself promising safety to whoever he deemed worth protecting.  _Her, her or her? His country, Lili or Bel,_ his mind contemplated _._   _Do I really just think like that nowadays?_

The plane pressed forward, flying away from the place where he and Belgium had drank wine, set up a tent, conversed and smiled. Switzerland kept trying to dismiss the dread growing in his nerves, but it remained, coalescing with the fear and worry he already had in his heart.

From high above the tracks were mere threads, winding through what seemed like a nightmarish world. The red had long since faded, but Switzerland could not shake away the tainted image. To him, they were still two bloody, thin, red lines against the grey, stringing north. He had not spotted the source, and yet he knew he was gaining on them very fast. The plane accelerated until at last, the grim world unveiled the truck. Inside was the prisoner he was looking for, probably injured and bloodied from fighting for her life.

He dipped the plane's nose, diving for the moving speck. The people in the vehicle, assuming more than one person could've taken Belgium, noticed him from the air the moment he headed straight for them. Gun shots were fired. But the bullets seemed hesitant; a minute or two later, the firing had stopped. He could sense the timid behaviour of the kidnappers. The men were armed but they seemed smart enough not to waste their ammunition on a mass of metal stupidly plunging for them.

Switzerland abruptly pulled up the Scarlet Baron, the propeller's mighty buzz and landing gears grazed the air just above the truck. Switzerland banked the plane to a sharp left turn after catching some higher altitude, but he was completely indulged by his threatening ploy that he did not notice buildings obscuring the skies. He narrowly dodged each of the structures by a hair; one of the ailerons was skinned by a piece of jutting debris. He jolted suddenly, but he managed a turn to face the truck once more.

The truck drove quickly though a street where there were more remnants of tall structures, some overlapping each other. Switzerland could not get the plane any closer to it because of the obstructions. But if he could just squeeze through the narrow street like what Belgium had shown him, he could probably make another threat or simply land the plane.

Finally, his prey stopped its engines. Like a rabbit hiding in the bushes from a hawk, the truck idled there amidst the structures. It seemed to be waiting for him to act. He kicked to accelerate, and then turned the plane away grudgingly. It was dangerous to move to do anything right now. The truck was keeping a close eye on him: where he would land, what he would do…everything.

After circling a few times, he located an area clear enough area to land the Scarlet Baron. He knew that once he touched the ground he was going to walk straight for the truck and head directly to the armed kidnappers. They were waiting for him and he readied himself for it.

_Because I promised her._

* * *

' _Szenderülj örök békességre'_  were the words she had said over his grave that miserable night. Hungary had barely slept for herself since Illes' burial. She had been avoiding a deep sleep because of the fear of battling nightmares and memories – and the ghostly Gilbert.

It had been two days after the death and it was the third night in the lowly train station. Romania and Bulgaria were once again busy scouting about somewhere once again while she kept Turkey company on one of the sturdy roof tops of the wagon.

Two days and it had been like this ever since the mysterious bloody crime: Hungary seeking restless comfort and holding on tightly to the Immunity; Turkey keeping thoughts to himself behind the mask, listlessly staring out into the distance as if Cyprus or Greece were somewhere out there; Romania strolling about with Bulgaria by his side, merriment spoken between them – somehow Romania had returned to his usual self the moment Illes was buried as if nothing terrible had happened. The night after the funeral, he had joked about Illes' death and it had irritated Hungary so much that she smacked his face red. She knew Romania would sometimes joke about death, but under the grim circumstances, she didn't find it appropriate at all.

Two days of what felt like torture, being in the same spot of a crime, and she shivered every night as if a ghost was wandering among them. Maybe it was the ghostly Gilbert she'd been trying to avoid. She had been pestering Romania to move the train already and set forth to wherever he was going to take them, but he kept dismissing the subject.

The Romanian Nation had decided  _to stay_ in the station for at least three days and said they were to keep stationary until one of his patrol men appear. He'd said that if no one approached them in three days then they could finally start the train engine and get going. He had loosely explained what they would do if someone  _did_  appear. "If one of my patrol men  _does_  show up within the three days then we add the new buddy to our buddy system!" he had said gleefully.

"What is this,  _playtime_  to you?" she sharply retorted. But he'd only shrugged that off and scouted about with Bulgaria again.

Hungary swallowed the stuffed cabbages like there was no tomorrow. At least they had enough food since Illes had stocked up a bunch of goods in one of the train's secret compartments. Romania was the only one who knew where the secret compartments were and how to open them. He was also the only one who knew how to operate his silly Dacia Express. Apparently with a bit of magical nonsense he'd fantasized one could gain the power to wield weapons and work locomotives.

Sadly he was not here at the moment for her to use as a punching bag.  _I'm losing this stupid game_   _of his_ , she thought.

Hungary looked over her shoulder to Turkey who was dangling his feet over the side of the dented train wagon. When Romania and Bulgaria were out venturing the perimeters, she and Turkey would sit on this peculiarly strong rooftop of one of the train's passenger cars to keep a watchful eye out from their vantage point.

"I'm gettin' some weird questionin' feeling, Hungary," said the Turk out of the blue. "Isn't Romania worried for his, ye know…cave kids or somethin'? I mean, one o' his guys got killed…Why're we still here…and not movin' along the tracks…?"

Hungary chewed on another cabbage. "Romania's being an idiot as always," she spat.

In her mind she wondered if Romania had a plan up his tacky striped-patterned sleeves. Maybe he was finally suspecting Bulgaria for Illes' death. Maybe he was getting rid of Bulgaria after all.  _That must be why he's been scouting around with the Bulgarian,_  she figured. Then an amusing thought occurred to her, making her laugh.  _Maybe they were just having secret dates and lovey-dovey get-togethers. They're probably holding each other's hands right now…_

Turkey faced her with questioning eyes. "I'm just thinkin' why we ain't movin' since a friend of his just died 'round this spot. You think we'd actually leave immediately, ye know? Is there somethin' wrong with him?"

"He makes jokes about death, for Vlad's sake! There's always something wrong with him!" Hungary could feel her chest yearn for air. Her mask was looped around her neck and she momentarily lifted it over her nose and mouth and breathed through for some filtration.

Hastily she finished her food, stood up and leapt off the wagon's roof. There was a nauseating feeling churning in her stomach from the cabbage and probably from the filthy air. With a heave, she wretched out the food she had tried to consume. That was the fourth time in the past two days.

This never happened when she had eaten the canned meaty rations, only with the vegetable ones. Her stomach was changing her into some 'meatatarian' – as what Romania had put it when they'd noticed her sickened by the vegetables. What she really could not consume was the simple idea that she was indeed changing inside.

During one of the nights, Bulgaria had finally brought up the subject of her turning cannibalistic. She had felt her stomach lurch from the topic immediately. Speechless to utter a single word, her mouth felt as though it had been sewn together. She felt as if she was watching a theatrical play of dramatically ironic events.

Bulgaria was the one  _she_  had accused of turning strange, but she did not bring that up because her lips were silenced by  _him_  accusing her. These men were probably now thinking that  _she_  was the one to watch out for – going berserk against the rest of them! She had kept her silence and did not protest against the accusation nor did she reproach Bulgaria. Perhaps whatever the men were feeling about her 'turning' would be an advantage. Let them fear her…

Once, while Turkey and Bulgaria were occupied, she saw Romania discreetly pulling out a familiar dagger. She could recall that it was the same blade that he had shown her as they were up on a tree above the Hungarian cannibals, and that same one that struck the cranium of the Magyar who had repented after losing his mind.  _"…from one of Moldova's men…"_  she remembered him telling her.

Without saying a word and with only a glint of the dagger, Romania had reminded her that he was cautious of everyone there – not just her – and that he wouldn't hesitate to kill if anyone did anything impulsive.

Romania's shadowed gaze flickered past Turkey and Bulgaria who were preoccupied with campfire stories, and then he finally locked his dark pupils to hers. Showing off Moldova's dagger simply told her Romania could easily kill  _her_  if she were to do anything. The fact that he had only displayed this dark threat to her specifically clearly meant that he did not trust  _her_  most out of the others.

Slipping the dagger away for the night, Romania had broken off the grim matter with a joke about bloody fangs and the conversation immediately flipped to another topic. And from what she could remember the rest of that night was just talk of magical spells, brown bears, Romanian food and women.  _Stupid Román,_ she had thought, before leaving their little circle _._

"Are you okay?" Turkey called down to her worriedly, breaking her from the reverie of yesterdays.

"I'm fine, Sadık. I'm sorry." She miserably settled inside the wagon below him. It had debris all over the floor and even the chairs were too damaged to sit on. Hungary pulled her knees up to her chin to hug herself tightly. In her pocket the Immunity needle poked her – a gentle reminder that her body was really 'turning'.

Meanwhile Turkey did not leave his perch. He was stronger than when they had found him. His slowly healing leg still made him limp, but at least his paces quickened.

Suddenly he gasped. "Bulgaria's comin'!"

Hungary jumped, and looked up at him hopefully, asking, "You see him?"

"Yeh!" Turkey stood up, waving his arms to indicate they were all right. "He's comin' around the trees. I can see his pointy thingy from here," chuckled the Turk, referring to the spear Bulgaria carried.

Hungary's breath quickened, she wondered if – "I don't see Romania, though," muttered the Turk, cutting through her thoughts. Hungary could feel something constrict her lungs. Her mind started flipping through possibilities of whatever happened. What if Bulgaria did something...? What if Romania simply decided to leave them alone with Bulgaria...? What if –? What happened –?

Bulgaria emerged out of the tree line's shadow. He was holding his spear with one hand, and he looked like he had walked for miles back and forth. Hungary stomped right up to him; she felt her fists clench and her eyes narrow to slits as she charged at him. "Bulgaria, where's the fanged idiot?"

Bulgaria gave her that toothy smile she had seen before, and it sent chills down her spine. "Ro's back there," he said dimly. "He told me to return to you guys. He said he needed a moment. We just had a long chat that's all."

"Why would he–? What chat?" Hungary did not restrain her demanding tone. "What did you two talk about?"

He scratched the back of his neck. "Whuh – why do you wanna know? It doesn't entirely concern you…"

Hungary exhaled angrily. "In a time like this, everything is concerning everyone! Tell me what's with him. Where is he?"

Bulgaria licked his lower lip and stepped aside. He used his spear to point to the direction where he'd trailed. "Go through a bunch of dead trees and turn right. Just follow my footprints, he's there. He's fine, really..."

She hesitated, and then gave him an intensely scrutinizing glare. "What  _did_ you two talk about?"

Bulgaria shrugged with that strange smile again. "Just stuff, really," he said. "Remember he told me about his plans to go to Ukraine with his survivors? I told him my plans of exploration. I mean, I'd rather go somewhere else besides Ukraine…"

Hungary did not move from her spot, but she had the strange urge to run away from Bulgaria at that instant. She knew what Bulgaria was capable of – what he was capable of becoming. Like Romania, Bulgaria had some tricks up his sleeves too.

Bulgaria looked at her curiously and offered bandages and rags from his pockets. She slapped it away. "I'm fine! That stupid bloody thing is over! Bulgaria, what is it you're not telling me? I believe you're hiding something!" She had said it all once but it was clear that her questions shot right to his ears for his answer was, "Ro and I talked about stuff…Then patrol men were there…He's fine, really..."

Hungary took in a raspy breath from the vague replies Bulgaria was giving her. She called for Turkey. "Sadık! You can come down now! We're going to find Romania. Bulgaria said he's found his patrol men!"

Turkey sluggishly climbed down from his perch and as she waited for him, she began thinking out loud. "All right Bulgaria, we're going together to go and get him," she spoke definitively. "I think he's too much of an idiot to come back and fetch us. He's also forgetting his train. Stupid asshat must be caught up with his patrol men. He could always just tell us his business with them, but I guess he still likes to hide a few things from Turkey and I –"

Suddenly Bulgaria would not meet her eyes. "Ro's fine really," he repeated.

 _Hazug,_ her mind whirred. S _omething feels really wrong here._  Hungary kicked at the dirt. "Stop repeating yourself! It's starting to creep me out!"

Bulgaria waited for her to calm down and when he spoke, his voice was low with an emphasis on a single word that made her shudder. "I didn't say...I didn't say he found  _his_  patrol men..."

Hungary felt her heart drop. "...what?"

"He found  _my_ men." Nodding slowly, Bulgaria took in her green eyes, his face unreadable, his lips parted only slightly to hide the malicious toothy grin. "My patrol men. They patrol with me…He found  _my_ men."

Hungary paused. Her eyes could no longer stay locked with Bulgaria's dark pupils. Concern was written all over her face and the Bulgarian Nation could see it. As if to try and reassure her, he said, "But he's fine really…"

Bulgaria's vague sentences could mean several things at once, and yet deep within the chambers of Hungary's black heart for Romania, was a small wish for truth in those repeated words.  _He's fine…really? What did Bulgaria do?_ She felt like her paranoia and distrust for Bulgaria had finally reached its summit.

Her lips trembled as she watched Bulgaria checking the pointed end of his spear as if the tip was dirtied. Hungary felt like running to where Romania could be – to check and see if he's still alive and able to lead them out of here, perhaps to his cavernous sanctuary. His caves. He had saved more Magyars there. He supplied the food, transportation, directions, even cursed chatter. How was she going to fend for her and Turkey if–

"Sadık!" She called to the Turk again. She didn't mean to sound quite frantic. "Turkey! Let's go find Romania! The idiot left without us! Let's go and catch up to him!"

Bulgaria stopped what he was doing and looked at her suspiciously again, like she did not understand what he had said the first time. "I said he's fine, really," he said again, and then he looked past her distantly, his eyes drifting away from hers. "You shouldn't go looking for him in the dark..."

"SHUT UP, BULGARIA!" she yelled, blazing with hate and worry. She dashed into the thick dead of night following an unfamiliar trail, running blindly...

Into the darkness, she ran.

Bloody Bulgaria could have easily and emotionlessly killed Romania in a heartbeat.

She quickened her pace with every turn, mind brimming with troubling thoughts.

 _I knew this would happen! Why now?! Why would Bulgaria_ – Gondolhattam volna!  _That stupid selfish, Romanian! Where is he?! I don't want him dead yet!_

* * *

"My name is Vash Zwingli," he revealed. The two stocky men in front of him snickered.

The strangers wore no uniform, only loose heavy coats and scarves. They were significantly larger than Switzerland, but he didn't care. He wanted to go right through them and leap into the truck to find Belgium, but the two men blocked his way were like concrete walls.

Switzerland stood paralyzed when one of them growled at him to back off. "So you're the flyin' bastard, ya?" said the one holding a heavier rifle than the other. "Whattaya want?"

He could see their mild scrutinizing glare through his gas mask lens. They were armed with rifles like him. However, after he had landed the plane he had stripped himself of almost all of his weapons except a knife. He knew such heated bulldogging men would be waiting for him. Blood would be shed if he fought their fire with his own fire. He knew if he was going to play the right cards safely he had to do so with little resistance, and strategically.

Switzerland shook his head. "I am the pilot of the plane and I do not want any trouble," he said steadily. "Sir, you have taken someone who was part of my flight crew."

The two men exchanged glances. "Funny, you're addressin' us as 'Sir'," harked one of them. "How'd you know we took somethin' from you?"

Switzerland controlled his impatience. "I lost my companion south of here," he replied, taking a step forward, but he was grabbed on both arms roughly by the heavier, bulkier man. The Alpine Nation's voice rose as he continued to explain. "I suspect you have her because your truck left behind enough evidence from the spot where she was last night! Let me see her! I know you took her from me!"

"Shut yer trap! Your girlfriend's fine!" They shoved him back so hard he fell on the dust. The two men aimed their guns to his head – a  _click_  sounded from one of their weapons, warning him to stay still.

"Listen you sonofagun," the bulkier man spat at the Swiss, "we ain't lettin' creeps near the girl until our business with a certain Dutch is settled. Yeah, don't look at me like that. A Dutch guy's lookin' for her, and you're no Dutch guy so what use are you to us? This is none 'o yer business –" He jabbed Switzerland's skull with the tip of his rifle and–

"Wait, stop!" cried Switzerland before the trigger was pulled. He could feel his heart pounding in his chest as he removed the obscuring mask from his face. Showing green eyes of steady focus, he raised his gloved hands in surrender.

"I understand," he spoke calmly. His mind whirled with what the man had just said.  _A 'Dutch guy's looking for her'? Did he mean Belgium's brother, Netherlands?_ He blinked up at them both. "Before you kill me, let me offer you my plane and my service."

They appeared unconvinced. Switzerland swallowed. "You have my word," he added firmly. They lowered their weapons. After a moment of silence, the bulkier man spoke, "You know we could still find the plane ourselves even after we kill you?"

Switzerland nodded but gave them a thoughtful look. "You stole my crew member who was deeply ill," he started, showing them the white cross symbols patched on his collar and jacket shoulder. "I carry medical supplies to heal her and only I know where they are in the plane. If you kill me now her illness will never be cured and she will never make it to this Dutch man you speak of. You will all get sick as well and you will be without a doctor."

The two men exchanged yet another glance at each other like there was a strange telepathic connection between them – a silent plan Switzerland wished he could comprehend. "Ye don't look like a doctor," one of them said.

Switzerland flinched. "Looks can be deceiving."

"We got our own medical kits though," spoke the bulky one. "How are yours any different?"

"I have a plane filled with medical supplies you may not even know how to use," Switzerland said as calmly as he could. "I also have ammunition you'd be very interested in."

The second man nudged the bulky one and muttered something about ransacking the plane themselves, but the larger man dismissed the notion and argued they had little idea what sickness they were dealing with anyway. Agreeing with a shrug of foolishness, the second man roughly lifted up Switzerland by his collar to his wobbly feet. "Let's just get this shit over with," he urged the Alpine, pointing a rifle to the Nation's back. "Take us to where this plane is and we'll rob you dry if you don't mind. We'll shoot you if you don't comply ye know."

Switzerland did not really want to argue or resist. He had a plan in his mind and if everything continued to play out like this, then things would go accordingly. He briskly led the two armed males to the spot where he had landed the Scarlet Baron. The plane was just right behind a wreckage pile hidden from view of the truck where Belgium was held. From the truck's view it could only be seen as another broken building, walled with debris. But once closer and pass all the wreck, there was the flat space for the Scarlet Baron clumsily positioned there and somewhat warm from the turbulent landing. Switzerland gave it a worried glance when they reached the foot of the small aircraft.

He petted a wing flap as he presented his offering like a prized calf. He was really gambling the aircraft and his weaponry to these thugs.

"Men. I hope at least one of you can fly a plane?" he asked forcing a smile.

The bulkier one grunted, reached out for the luggage compartment and started taking out Switzerland's ammunitions and Belgium's goods. The second man followed suit and climbed into the cabin and stole the leftovers.

Switzerland could sense his two precious rifles, his favourite grenades and even the stun guns being piled up and packaged by the grubby sausage fingered men. He dared not interrupt the two in their trance of stealing. He simply stood there and watched them with only a knife tucked in his jacket.

He waited. The two men were like wolves cleaning the inside of a worn-out calf.

He waited.

He knew they were going to find something missing.

The medical supplies.

"Oi! This one's nice." The bulkier one held up one of Switzerland's belt of grenades to his comrade. They started chuckling, thinking Switzerland was just too stupid to give all of his things away like this. In his own mind, Switzerland found them too stupid to suspect anything at all. They did not even wonder why he was so compliant. They probably thought he was a desperate young man who would just surrender to anything to rescue his friend.

Enjoying themselves with their new treasures, the second man started fiddling with the Scarlet Baron's control panel dumbly trying to start the engine. The bulkier one started violating the suitcases. Then both started searching around the plane again; one in the cabin, while the other circling the outside. Finally, they appeared to have noticed something was indeed missing …

Switzerland knew the two stooges began scavenging for the medical kits. In truth, the Nation only had a small packet of first aid that was pocket-sized, and that was with him and his knife hidden in his jacket.

The Alpine watched the two men argue over who found what and who was keeping their share. The men started bickering over supplies and it felt like hours before Switzerland had finally had enough of their folly.  _I've had it with these two!_

As the two men were indulging themselves, Switzerland posed a fighting stance, sneaked the knife in his sleeve and made the first move, charging toward the bulkier one of the two. Before his enemy had a chance to even wheel around and face him, Switzerland had already swung below the man's jaw gashing a jugular vein. Watching his friend crash to the ground dead, the second man panicked and started aimlessly firing at the Alpine in a mad frenzy.

Dodging the bullets, Switzerland's mouth thinned to a mere line. He used the Scarlet Baron's body as an advantage, ducking under its belly as the second man fired his direction.

Switzerland's strategy was a surprise attack, and it was fifty percent finished. He stalked the second man from behind, his opponent wildly looking around and reaching for one of Switzerland's grenades.

The Alpine's eyes widened. Of course, his plan was flawed. He had gambled and forgotten about the unattended weapons. He had given the enemy an advantage.

"I'll blow this place if ye don't show yerself, you sonofabitch!" cried the second man, glancing past his dead bulky comrade. "If you slit my throat, I'll shoot you dead before you can say shit!"

Switzerland had his own defense aside from the knife. Taking a deep breath he thought to himself he should do this fast or it would kill him.

The Alpine made his move, hurriedly emerging into view. He targeted a bladed punch to the second man's neck. His opponent seized the opportunity to shoot at the Nation's chest. Knowingly Switzerland dodged the first bullet to his side but he still got an agonizing shot to the shoulder.

Before the man could shoot once more, Switzerland's uninjured arm finished him off with a bladed fist to the lung. Switzerland took a step back and watched the body go limp beside the other fallen comrade. He could see the blood streaming out their wounds.

The Nation took a few moments to clear his thoughts, massage his bleeding shoulder, and remove the bullet left behind. With some rags he cleaned his painful wound excruciatingly and hastily, as if time was slipping away too fast for him like the oozing blood.

It pained him to remember that the last time he had done this was with the figment of Liechtenstein.

These two men he had just murdered used to be fellow Germans living a normal life before this Calamity. These two men had kidnapped Belgium from him to send her to this Dutch man he supposed was her brother.  _Have I made the wrong choice by killing them?_  his mind furiously questioned. And yet, he had to get rid of them for a sister in need.

Belgium.

Fully equipped this time with two of his rifles, he returned to the truck. He had made sure the two dead men were buried aside so he could fly the Scarlet Baron smoothly to the skies again. He planned it all out in his mind: once he retrieves Belgium and carry her to the plane, he would start the engine and they would continue to their northern course. Now that a couple of obstacles were out of the way, the plan should go on smoothly –

He stopped dead in his tracks, noticing an arm reach out, hand tilting the truck's side view mirror.

_A driver?_

The driver noticed him and peered over the window, muttering something. Switzerland was about to shoot the man dead with his rifle but there was –

 _Oh crap._  He tried to dodge it –

But a piercing pain erupted along his cheek as a bullet grazed right past him, narrowly missing his face. There were three other men in the truck besides the driver.

He stumbled backwards trying to catch his breath. A second shot struck his thigh, his knees gave in and he cried out in pain as arms seized his limbs and blindfolded his eyes to darkness. He could feel the blood running down his face and from his old shoulder wound. The hole in his thigh oozed as they lugged him to their vehicle. They stripped him of his precious weapons and tied up his arms and ankles. He winced in agony from the stinging pain as the men moved him around like an injured animal.

The Nation had completely underestimated the truck's crew.  _Two men,_  he thought tearfully, feeling his lips tremble in complete surrender and desperation.  _I only thought there were two of them! DAMN IT!_

He felt his body crumple on what felt like cold, hard, metal floor. The men had hauled him inside the back of the truck already. He could hear car doors slamming shut, heavy wheels turning and an engine starting, and then a –

 _Kaboooooooooooooooom!_ A grenade's cry. He could not see anything behind the blindfold but he could guess what the men had done. Without thinking, he outrageously yelled, "WHAT DID YOU DO?!" And to confirm his fears, one of the men let out a laugh saying, "Your pathetic plane just went off, you ass."

"Yeah! A grenade went off. Let's get the fuck outta here!" added another. Wheels turned and the engine rolled.

Switzerland bit back a quivering sob. The only escape he and Belgium had was gone, and with it were precious supplies and ammunition. The scent of the Scarlet Baron's gasoline caught his nose as if to say a final farewell.

These men had bombed his plane to torture him. It was an act of revenge, probably for their two lost comrades. He did not even linger on the thought on how they did it.  _They must've had a stash of their own grenades,_ he sighed _._ His strategy failed, and because he gambled just this once, all his hope exploded to nothing.

Submitting to complete utter exhaustion and loss, he simply laid there, listening to the strange rhythms of the truck as it drove on. It was taking them somewhere he did not know. He listened to the hum of the engine, the rattling metal against the rugged road, the three laughing men driving, and the light breathing of someone...someone crouching beside him. Picking himself up to a sitting position, Switzerland could sense a familiar face huddling close.

Even through the dimness of the blindfold he knew the single passenger pressing her cheek to his hair gently.

"Let me take off your blindfold, Vash," she whispered, biting a knot at the back of his head softly. It seemed like she had her hands bounded too. " _Ils sont imbéciles_ ," she commented in between biting loose the blindfold around his eyes. "One should never blindfold or tie up two people separately without restraint against each other...There!"

The rag dropped to the floor and when he looked up Belgium was so close, less than a foot away from him, blindfolded and tied up by her wrists and ankles. She still had Liechtenstein's ribbon in her hair.

Normally he would shove a person away for being that near to him. She was inches from his face definitely crossing the line of his personal space bubble, but he felt comforted by her. She gave him a partial embrace, and he patiently accepted, like he would with Liechtenstein. "By the way,  _merci beaucoup,_ " she smiled, "For…you know…coming after me."

He let out a sigh of relief when she pulled away just a little bit - unlike with Liechtenstein, Belgium's presence made his face go oddly warm, reddening his cheeks. He didn't like it, and he figured the heat was from the fever last night.  _Or had it just been me blushing_ _?_  He cleared his throat. "You don't look bloody or bruised, Bel."

Belgium gave him a faint smile. "The blood you found in your plane was from one of the guys. I put up a good fight but they wouldn't even give me a scratch." She lowered her voice. "There used to be more than just five of these guys. There were three other guys in addition, but they were badly beaten that they had to be left behind."

Switzerland frowned, seeing Belgium sneak a sly grin after a giggle. "My brother knew I was gonna be tough on kidnappers," she smirked. She tried wriggling free of the ropes around her wrists, but they were much stronger than the silly rags used to blindfold them.

Without giving her a warning, he moved forward and bit the knot of her blindfold. He tugged it with his teeth disturbing her light brown locks in the process.

"At ease, Vash!" she chuckled, as she bent her head low so he could easily remove the blinding rag from her eyes.

Finally, he spat out the rag and noticed a change in her face. "So you are hurt," he grunted, noticing the bruise on her right brow.

"Hey, at least it's not a black eye!" she argued, sitting back comfortably, her green eyes blinking with a tinge of glee. Instantly Switzerland was reminded of a certain Spaniard.

He drew back, reminded of when Belgium had asked of Spain's whereabouts. He didn't know why he wanted to bring up the subject again. "So…you believe Spain's still out there?" Perhaps it was the need for some optimism from the Belgian.

She looked away from him. "Spain's out there with the Italians, and like Prussia, they're still alive. I believe it. Also France and England are probably still alive. They're strong Nations…"

Her words were a lullaby to his ears. Maybe the words were true. Maybe they were just empty words spoken only to ease a painful situation.

Switzerland leaned back against the side of a seat, he felt too exhausted to pry his wrists free from the ropes. Suddenly Belgium locked her eyes on his, green meeting green with an idea sparkling. "Turn around, we should try this," she decided. "We use one other's hands to untie the other!"

Switzerland complied and shifted his body to lean against her back. He felt her hands furiously trying to untie his ropes, but he was slow on untying hers. She was frisky and trying her best to untie him, but he was simply leaning against her, tired and thinking about the bullet holes in him…his face still bleeding… his body aching…

"Switzy, snap out of it! Untie me so I can help you! I know they shot you and I swear I think you're still sick! But hold on and stay awake!" Belgium's voice was hasty and demanding. Firm and also…comforting to his ears…his eyes began to close. He could feel their hands touching; she was trying to keep him awake with the little jolts sent by her cool fingers against his. But he was tired and all he could manage were a few words.

"You're planning to stay…with these men…aren't you?" he asked her softly. "For your…brother?"

She hastily worked her fingers through the knot on his wrist, replying, "Crap, Vash, don't faint on me again! And of course I do! They're taking me to Ned! If anything happens I'll take care of it, don't worry. Well, you'll help me too, right? Can't you heal faster than –" she stopped suddenly. There was a faint whirring noise overhead that Switzerland thought was the sound of another truck's engine.

He could feel Belgium's breath quicken. "It sounds like – another…?" she muttered. "No it can't be!"

The whirring noise faded in seconds, drowned by the bodies laughing at the front driver seats.

Switzerland's head drooped as he felt sleep taking over his whole system. His energy drained with every blood cell leaving his body, but his slow fingers eventually loosened Belgium's knots enough for her to writhe free. He could hear Belgium shifting around the truck. His eyes were finally shut and his whole body collapsed to rest. Parts of Belgium's words managed to slip into his feigning mind.

"…another...another plane…! It must have been following you…after all!"

_After all…_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Szenderülj örök békességre (Hungarian for 'Slumber into eternal peace')
> 
> Hazug! (Hungarian for Liar!)
> 
> Gondolhattam volna! (Hungarian for 'I should've known!')
> 
> Ils sont imbéciles. (French for They're idiots. / Those guys are imbeciles. )
> 
> Merci beaucoup (French for Thank you very much.)
> 
> Credits to Awelina for Hungarian translations!
> 
> . . .
> 
> And if you haven't checked out latest art update:
> 
> More Retrace Fan Art! Courtesy by the lovely Emma and Jade (tumblr: francofous and ottomanliest) Thank you so much guys ;u;
> 
> There is finally an 'APH Retrace' tab/link to ALL Retrace-related art and fanart in tumblr blog: saviourless (*slight spoiler on some of the new art*)


	12. Colourless Water

_"It is easier to forgive an enemy than to forgive a friend." - William Blake (English poet 1757 - 1827)_

* * *

 

He could feel familiar heartbeats throbbing and beating against the earth of his land. But Bulgaria had said he was long gone. Dead. Perished. There were so many words to describe the miserable, depressing feeling after knowing someone so close was 'long gone'...

Romania laid there with his back sprawled on the mud, his face to the sky, his lips slightly parted and his eyes barely open. He was badly bruised on the temple, earned from a cold knock down into the puddles earlier that dawn. At least the brutal bastards did not bash his limbs severely. He could still get up and walk for miles, but what truly pained him the most was the internal emotional hurt.

He was betrayed by none other than the friend he had searched for – a friend who he had hoped was alive, and one he had wanted to travel with and join his people to safety.  _Bulgaria_ …

He had suspected Bulgaria ever since the crime with Illes, but he had always thought Hungary would be the first to leave him like this. Beaten and betrayed.

Romania tilted his head to the side, away from the grey emptiness above, welcoming the shallow water gathering around his body. He surrendered to the little rising tides that could swallow him up and drown him forever.

His hair was wet, and his jacket was soaked and emptied of weapons. He did not know where his hat went, but he still had Illes' flower pin. He had lost his gas mask, his bag of supplies, his two pistols and his dagger... _Moldova_ _'s dagger,_ he corrected.

At first Romania had believed that his little brother, Moldova, had truly been taken by the Calamity's wrath. He had accepted the death months ago, after he had failed to find the boy for weeks. He had only managed to find the blade from one of the bodies waterlogged in the north western coastlines. He hadn't found any concrete evidence of the boy anywhere, up until the very break of dawn.

One sore hand rested on his chest holding something so dear to his heart: a smaller hat in a brighter shade of colour than his own with a striped ribbon in the colours of the Moldovan flag.

"Don't break his bones," the Bulgarian Nation had said to the gathering men last night. Romania had kept his eyes locked to the Nation-being as he was pressed down by large, muscled arms, gnashing teeth, heavy bones and growling stomachs. They were men with large lumbering limbs wearing different torn blood-stained shirts; masked with desperate, sweaty, scarred faces.

In his own mind, Romania had called them 'Bloody Thugs', just like their supposed chief 'Bloody Bulgaria'. Though not all of the men were of Bulgarian origin, and he felt one or two were from other countries.

For the past couple of days since Illes' murder, he had brought Bulgaria out alone knowing Hungary's warnings. He thought he was protecting the Bulgarian from Hungary of all others, and he thought he prepared for such a fight. When he was ambushed, it was the aching realization that had struck him more than the fists and the bruises.

He had suspected the wrong person out of blind anger and distrust.

When he had talked to Bulgaria during those patrolling nights, he had somewhat interrogated him, curious to see if Bulgaria _was_  the terror Hungary had accused him to be. Yet Bulgaria had only given him random answers and changed the topic, which had gotten him nowhere. All this time he had been easily fooled.

_I'd thought everything was going according to plan…_

"Take his things," Bulgaria had ordered the bloody goons.

The silhouettes of spears around Romania were like cage bars, imprisoning him in his thoughts and stunning him silent. Bulgaria had nodded to one of the thugs and a gristly man responded, pulling something from the shadows of a rugged coat and tossing it in front of him.

It was the little hat Moldova had worn, which he was now held tightly to his chest above the water that was engulfing him, afraid it might soak.

Alone with the hat upsetting him of his brother's dead presence, Bulgaria and the cursed ruffians had left him here, wounded, bruised, slowly breathing, and drowning with water climbing up to his nose. His ears could hear the light splashes of someone approaching but he felt it was just imagination, like the feeling of Moldova's heartbeat. He gripped the little hat tighter and closed his eyes as water washed his face. Mud pulled him closer to the earth.

_Splash, splash, splash._

He sighed, immersed with thoughts.  _Mo's gone_ , he frowned.  _Bul's gone crazy. He told me Mo was alive but now apparently…dead. Long gone. I think I'm going crazy…_

_Splash, splash, splash._

_I'm hearing things. He'd said, "Moldova was alive…"_

_Splash, splash._

_He'd said, "Danube's expanded…we're drowning…water-logged…boats…his men…one boat…"_

_Splash –_ "Romania!"

_He'd said, "So many bodies…boat…? Something about having visited Serbia…or was it Hungary…? So much water..."_

"Alex?"Romania felt the water disturbed; his mind was startled from a sudden tug – one arm lifted – water surged around him –

_He'd said, "So many bodies…bottles…messages in – ! "_

A hand gripped his other arm that held Moldova's hat, and then he was pulled and dragged aside from wherever he was. Mud and water clung unto him for a moment but soon enough he was leaning against the bark of a tree. He did not want to open his eyes. He just wanted to surrender to the state of being –

_Slap!_

His cheek stung, making him flinch and blink his eyes furiously at the source.

"Romania?" the female voice sounded like she'd run a marathon. "Are you…okay? You're soaking wet!"

He grumbled, "I'm soaking wet…" He looked away from her eyes and exhaled, feeling defeated after all the roads he had traveled, after all the hope he'd built up for –

_Slap!_

His other cheek stinging, he turned his face and he gave her a tired sideways glance. "Do you mind? I'm busy giving up here."

Hungary gave an exasperated grunt and looped an arm around him like she was awkwardly hugging him sideways. He had something to say about that, but suddenly lost the mood to tell any more jokes.

"I'm helping you up. Just don't say anything," she muttered, sensing his quiet chuckle.

A part of him wanted to ask if she had been worried for him, but a he was more concerned about Bulgaria's goons lurking around. His lips remained sealed.

"Here's yours," said Hungary, handing him his own small hat, after his feet were firmly planted. She had found it floating in one of the other puddles. He silently took it with one hand, while the other still held on to –

"Moldova's…?" Hungary looked at him alarmed, her eyes glazed with understanding. "Is that…? I'm sorry –"

"Don't," he croaked, "just don't." He was not going to cry before the Hungarian, nor was he going to say anything about it any further. Romania pushed past her hurriedly and walked on. He felt like he was seriously going insane just thinking about this.  _Cursed heartbeats,_ his mind raged. _In this cursed air, on this cursed ground with all this cursed water coming!_

He pocketed both hats with the flower accessory and strode onwards to the train station's direction where Hungary had come from. It was a fair distance away but he knew the route. He noticed water was licking his boots, erupting to splashes with every step.

Ash, water, dirt and mud coated their clothes and boots as he guided the way. Bulgaria had truly led him astray last night before the ambush, and he had some far distance to trudge back to the train. Hungary was following closely behind.

"Wait!" she cried, running up to his side. "Are you sure you're okay...? Did you see what – You're face is bruised –"

"I'm fine," he cut her off.

"Usually when people say that, they're not," she said sharply.

"And since when did you start caring, Magyar? All your life you wanted to pan me to death." He half-heartedly chuckled at the silly thought.

Hungary ran in front of him, with one hand she grabbed his shoulder and pinned him against the closest charred tree trunk. Her other hand balled to a fist but the target was not him. Romania looked at her confused; she wasn't even looking at him, and she appeared to be searching for something she heard, like a falcon preying for the single mouse that made noise in the distance.

"Since when did I start caring?" she hissed, her tone was vicious but her words were total contradiction. "I started caring when you found me in that stupid ditch, fed me that stupid food, told me the stupid news about your – your people." She fixed him with a menacing glare. "I started caring after you've told me about Illes and the others. I started caring when I was reminded of the one time when we were stupid kids, you were trying to be nice to me even after I treated you like shit. I started caring when I thought you were gone and dead, not by my hands! Dead with all the food and directions –" she suddenly stopped when she noticed the corner of his mouth tilt to a faint smile. Annoyed, Hungary slammed him into the tree hard, knocking the wind from his lungs.

"Somehow," he coughed out a laugh, "I knew you'd do that."

"Nothing's changed,  _Román_ ," she whispered venomously before surveying the scene again with her piercing eyes. "How many were there?"

Romania exhaled, "There were five or six that jumped me." He started looking around as well. "I'm guessing Bulgaria told you about his patrol men?"

"I'm guessing Bulgaria left you weaponless."

He smiled. "But friendship is the greatest weapon of all…"

"We're not friends! AND I TOLD YOU –" Hungary impatiently lowered her voice, "Ugh! I told you Bulgaria was bad news!"

"Which is why I'd recently took him out on a couple of dates to get to know him," he responded bitterly, "while I left you with Turkey to have dinner together. Did you enjoy yourselves by the way?"

Hungary's eyes suddenly widened, panic dashed her face. Letting go of him, she took a step back from the tree. "Speaking of Turkey – " she licked her lips, "I thought he was following me – looking for you. I assumed he…but after all…Bulgaria must've…then…"

Romania watched her pace back and forth nervously, mumbling to herself. Bored, he tore off his long coat and wrung it free of water. He was careful to wring the two little hats as well. When he pulled out Illes' flower, he was reminded of his kind intention to give it to Hungary. He shook his head and deliberately returned the three small treasures in his pocket. It was still soaking wet when he put the coat back on, but at least it wasn't as drenched as before. He didn't want to dry the rest of his clothes yet. The Hungarian was there and in hell he would strip in front of  _her_ , though she wasn't even paying any attention to him at the moment. Amused, he randomly wondered if his boots squeaked…

"What were you even thinking anyway?" Hungary suddenly barked, snapping him back to reality. "Taking on Bulgaria alone when you knew he's lost his mind! Can't you see he's turned to his old self 'Bloody Bulgaria'?!"

Romania gave no answer, and instead he slowly turned to the direction of the train station. "Let's keep going…" he murmured.

He could feel Hungary look him over, even more confused. "Wait, Romania!" She pulled him back again, unusually taking a long moment before finding her words, like she knew something he didn't. "You said you were waiting for any of your patrol men to show up," she said slowly, unblinking. "You even scouted around with Bulgaria to find any signs of one. Did you…perhaps you…did you find anyone at all besides Bulgaria's men?"

He remembered his plans, but his thoughts had gone astray after the ambush bruised him and after the water muddled him. "I didn't find anyone unfortunately," he sighed, "Our wait has been in vain. Let's just keep…going…"

Hungary regarded him, her eyes searching for the energy he had days ago. "Romania, I thought you could sense when your own people are around."

"…"  _Drop the subject_ , he thought bitterly, feeling his whole body droop like melting wax. He felt betrayed by his senses, so he did not even want to track anyone – a dead boy's heartbeat was already disconcerting his mind.  _Heartbeats. Pulses. Dead or alive, I don't know…_

Hungary took his arm anxiously and dragged him to a different direction. He was about to protest and stop her from wasting time. "Listen," she puffed, her tone deathly serious, "when I was looking for you I stumbled upon your patrol men."

Romania was stunned, baffled by the statement. Hungary charted off course, and they toured along the very edge of the grim forest, a detour away from the route to the station. Where she led him was familiar, since he had scouted the area with Bulgaria a day before – only there was something entirely changed in the landscape.

There was now a calm river covering what was once ashen ground, waist-deep. Scattered uniformly alongside the blackened trees and sharp sticks were floating corpses dressed in blood and torn clothes. The air had a new rotting stench that made him cringe that not even the best chemical sprays could mask.

They stopped on the edge of the carnage, looking out over every tree and human body. He heard Hungary say, "I'm sorry" as he scanned the forest, tainted with water, blood, and the dead.

Romania cleared his throat with a heavy heart. Misery welled up inside him once more. He could name the recognizable forms of every floating person there.

After a heavy silence, he tried to smile and tried to think up of a joke to lighten his spirit. "But I liked Bob," he said quietly, looking at the lifeless corpse of the man resting a few paces away from him. "He's bobbing along…there…in the water…"

Glancing at him, Hungary knitted her eyebrows, but he held his smile.

First there was Illes, then really Moldova, and then the rest of his patrol men including Bob. The dreadful feeling of losing the families in Cluj was frightening him to the very core – he was going to lose his mind over it. He steadied himself, trying to believe that Bulgaria had no hand in this but it was hard to believe, seeing as there were a couple of bone spears poking through the bloody bodies.

Hungary's words were careful. "The night these men were so close finding you, Bulgaria's hooligans must have ambushed them," she said. "If you look closely, I think Bob has something on his pocket."

Romania stood beside her and placed a gentle gloved hand on her shoulder. "Will you do me a favour?"

"Just don't touch me – " Hungary flinched away, but she wasn't fast enough to avoid the strong nudge he delivered, "– whoa! Oof!" Hungary stumbled backwards, tripping over a rock and slipping into the watery grave. Luckily the water only reached her waist, and when she got to her feet she spat, "You asshat!"

Drenched and spitting wet, some of the mud clung to her clothes. A corpse drifted away from her as she made tremendous splashes. She stopped caring about all the noise she made. "WHY THE HELL would you do that?! That was rude and completely unnecessary! This water is filled with –"

"Could you please," he began with a firm tone, silencing her and keeping an eye on what looked like paper peering through Bob's front jacket pocket, "Bring me the message he has on him?"

Hungary cursed and swore but she did as she was told. Braving the contaminated water, she reached Bob's body and fished out a message.

"There are two letters," she called back and raised them high enough to show him. She returned without opening them, which surprised him. Romania offered a hand to pull her up but she slapped it away. "You couldn't swim in the water yourself and get these?" she said angrily, shoving him the letters and keeping her distance.

"I already got wet," he smiled. "It's only fair you get splashed too. Besides, that cheered me up a little." Hungary grumbled, and marched away from him to settle on a boulder nearby. He could hear her cursing his name as he opened the letters.

Delightedly, his heart skipped a beat – one of the letters was from the Cluj caves reporting their status. The letter was dated more than a week ago and if Romania counted this morning, Bob's men had traveled by boat from Cluj to here, using one of his country's expanded rivers instead of the train stationed there. They had probably walked on foot the rest of the way, only to be caught by Bulgaria's men soon after.

The letter was good news written in Lanky's handwriting; everyone seemed to be fairing fine, even though there were worries of dwindling food supply, lesser activities of the patrol men and 'The Saviour's' lengthening absence. His patrol men were almost finished with their preparations for their march to Ukraine, and apparently they were only waiting for him to return and lead them.

Romania tore up the letter – like he normally did with every report so they would not end up in the wrong hands, but today he considered a new threat and he tore up the words resentfully. He was upset with himself and upset with the risks he'd taken. The number of patrol men protecting his people had lowered – and if Bulgaria were to use the train, Cluj would be doomed with such dreadful ruffians coming their way.  _More like desperate cannibals_ , he thought nervously.

He opened the second letter and it was a terrifying one written in sloppy cursive. The words were all too familiar.

 _A régi mániám_  
Tankkal végigmenni Románián  
Egy szép nagy Tigrisen  
És a két kezünkben gránát legyen  
Te szép gyergyói út  
Langyos esti szél a fülembe súg  
Az lesz majd szép idő, az lesz majd jó idő  
Akkor majd Alexandru nem lesz nyerő

 _That will be a beautiful time, that will be a good time. Then Alexandru won't be the winner!_  He knew these Hungarian lyrics too well, and to torment him even more, his own name replaced Ceaucescu's the man who was targeted by such a ridiculous chant.

He eyed Hungary suspiciously; her back was turned to him. She was occupied with wringing her long wet hair to dry, her top suit was set aside and her white blouse and pants clung on her body like tissue. He could faintly see her ribcage and spine when she stretched her arms out. Suddenly he remembered what Bulgaria had told him and what Turkey had implied,  _"She's 'turning'."_

Romania tore up the second letter. He was not frightened of Hungary, nor had he gained any trust for her. She remained unpredictable and – after that threatening lyrical letter – suspicious.  _Did she even write that?_  he wondered, even though he hadn't received any direct letters from her in years, he knew she wrote in cursive.

Hungary glanced at him. He was dubiously staring at her as she suited up. "What?" she asked.

 _Good. She can still tell that I don't trust her._ Romaniaturned his heel towards the train station. They had wasted enough time already.  _Cursed Magyar, cursed heartbeats, cursed pulses…_

Hungary scuttled right by his side. "What's wrong? What did the letters say?"

"Bulgaria's written all over it," he informed. It was true in a way. He suspected Bulgaria was trying to fool him with the letters. He wondered why, after killing a group of men, he would leave such letters behind – not to mention leave them out in the open like that. He also realized he was also left with only Illes' flower and two hats from when Bulgaria and his men took all of his other things, like his guns. Whatever Bulgaria was trying to do, he had no idea. These items might be mere pawns for a checkmate later on and he dreaded the outcome to that.  _Perhaps Bulgaria wanted me to be left with only these items to handle them to fall to my own demise?_  he queried.  _Perhaps…I'm just going insane_.

He paused, stopping mid-stride. Hungary suddenly went full alert and stepped in front of him. "You hear something?" she observed.

He sighed and took a moment to half-heartedly listen for another ambush. They were a shorter distance from the train now, and a part of the locomotive peeked through a wall. Turkey was no where to be seen, nor Bulgaria and his crew.

Romania could always refocus and find them by tracking, howbeit he refused.  _Damned heartbeats,_  he thought.  _I swear_   _I'm just going insane._

"I don't hear anything," he stubbornly confirmed, water trickled under his boots as the new tide was rising.

Hungary fiercely turned to him. "Honestly, you should let me know if people are coming to jump us! I know you can sense them. Or is there something belying your head?"

Romania did not answer, his eyes narrowed and set to the distance beyond. He could see a part of the railroad, and then all of a sudden a couple of figures popped around the walls. People appeared in his station, and he knew from their rugged stances that they were Bulgaria's bloody goons.

A man's agonizing scream made them both jump. Instantaneously a mob of figures dressed in rags, armed with spears emerged from all directions. They crowded around Romania and Hungary, organized and arranged, like a large circle shrinking inwards and the center was the prize of two Nation-beings. Romania spun around and was greeted with several strange faces at once, each with jaws set open, mouths salivating and each holding spears – thankfully no one had guns. He wondered why since Bulgaria had confiscated his two pistols. He counted twelve or fifteen surrounding them, and by the looks on their faces, they were all waiting for someone's orders to attack.

"Fortunately these guys aren't as armed," Romania muttered behind the Hungarian, "Though I think they are armed with  _arms_  no doubt, I mean this is an  _army_  –"

"I'll handle these wretched bastards," growled Hungary, grounding her boots, raising her fists, and readying herself for an ultimate brawl.

"You're unarmed," he pointed out.

Hungary raised a brow at him.

He stepped aside, saying, "On second thought, forget I said anything."

Again, the agonizing scream erupted from the train station, making Hungary snarl and spontaneously lunge at the nearest brutes blocking her way. Using her leg she delivered a solid blow to a goon's dirty face. The bloody thugs tried to maintain their line but the Hungarian attacked another, breaking their formation. In mere seconds Hungary was swallowed up in a sea of limbs, every move sending ash and water exploding about – primeval battle cries between an angry Nation-being and desperate ruffians echoed in melodic brutality. Spear heads flew, somehow Hungary dodged them. Romania made a move forward to help her and maybe find her and pull her out of the fray, but two figures blocked his path and cracked their knuckles at him.

"Pull out a vampire trick from your stupid hat and we'll crush your bones," scoffed one of the brutes.

But he didn't even have his hat on. Romania rolled his eyes. "Fangtastic," he gibed, right before he was roughly grabbed in the shoulders and lifted up by a couple of feet. The seven-foot tall bloody thug was as strong and solid as a rock, and Romania felt like he was lifted by a steel crane.

"I never understood your joking manners, Ro," a calm familiar voice sounded amidst the fight. The figure halted the chaos with mere presence. The thugs stopped fighting, and dust cleared revealing Bulgaria standing tall in front of them, spear sheathed behind his back.

Suspended by the tall goon, Romania's jaw dropped at the sight of the blank-faced traitor with set eyes telling a different tale – within Bulgaria's dark pupils Romania could see a light of concern. Or was he being fooled all over again? He was unsure.

Hungary, on the other hand, was being heavily pinned face down to the ground by several rowdy men snickering over her. Eyes wild, she coughed out blood. "Where's Turkey?" she sputtered, "What have you done with him? Damn it, FACE ME Bloody Bulgaria!"

Bulgaria looked hurt by the title, his shoulders sagged and he looked away from the two Nations. Instead of answering, he ordered his thugs to take them to the train station. Slightly bothered with the fact that Bulgaria didn't have his two pistols, Romania remained silent, observing the Bulgarian's every step. The other Nation was given every perfect opportunity to shoot them, but again he wondered why the spears.

As they were being dragged to the station, Hungary menacingly writhed and squirmed, trying to liberate herself from the clutches of the disgusting men restraining her. Romania shot her a look to calm down, but she kicked and growled like a dog. "Turkey! Turkey's in trouble!" she was saying, "I think he's in pain! His screams – he's hurt!" It wasn't until one of the thugs knocked her out cold that the air became turned silent.

An unsettling grey fog descended to suit the gloom ever more, and only the sound to be heard were dragging feet and a faint cry of a man. Finally Romania was dropped on the ground so carelessly it was almost bone-breaking.

Looming over him, Bulgaria's mouth twitched in annoyance. Romania made a move to punch him when a cry halted his clenched fist.

"This 's not okay…" wept a voice that sounded like Turkey.

Romania had never heard the older Nation cry before, maybe he had but it was a long time ago. Pushing Bulgaria aside and ignoring the thugs moving in on him, he noticed Turkey's leg dangling out of one of the open wagon doors. He hurried over to the Turk and found him resting in the wagon, fortunately in one piece, but groaning at the broken leg hanging limp over the train car. Ignoring the Turk's painful cries, Romania slowly shifted the man's leg up and into the wagon to provide some comfort.

"Hang in there Sadık," Romania said gently, prodding the Turk. He tried to show Turkey a smile but again his mouth trembled. "Ha, ha…Get it? You were left hanging…"

There were a couple of hunched men inside the wagon scrutinizing Romania. He supposed they we imprisoning Turkey and had broken his healing leg of all other limbs. Turkey stirred, his mask obscuring half his anguished face.

Romania waved a friendly hand. "Are you okay?"

Turkey gave him a tired stare, beneath the white mask the Turk had probably blinked at him. "Alive," he murmured, "He's – he's alive!" The Turk lifted his hands to cover his shaken face; his sobs muffled a few more words. "Yer – yer lucky!"

Romania snarled, "What did you do to him, Bul?" He did not have to raise his voice for Bulgaria to hear.

The Bulgarian murmured a few orders to the bloody thugs to put Hungary away, and then he strode over to Romania and gave him a sideways glance.

"I told him the truth," said the Bulgarian, unfazed. "The truth…I told him I found Cyprus, but my men got to him first. I can't control everything now can't I? After all, I am only one person."

Romania tensed, feeling every nerve and muscle in his system preparing to strike at Bulgaria.  _There, then gone_ , he speculated, like the flashing pulses he had tracked from the very beginning _._ Bulgaria's heart had been changing, his Nationhood deteriorating, and he was becoming more human as his people were turning for the worst.

One of the bloody thugs motioned more goons to assist. Three appeared on the other end of the wagon to place an unconscious Hungary beside Turkey and they quickly disappeared to file in the train cars. Appearing in all different shapes and forms, the thugs started to haul themselves in the locomotive. They all clambered into the burnt, dented wagons that used to be for passengers, only this time the seats were debris.

"How did you do it?" Romania asked, a tear threatened to fall from his eyes as he watched the band of ruffians, rogues, and mentally unstable hunters readying for the ride to his beloved Cluj. "How, Bulgaria? How did you manage to fool me?"

Bulgaria shrugged nonchalantly. "Must've been the water," he told him. "The water masked us. We had a boat, and the railroads were too easy to follow. I only needed to find you to –."

"Whatever you say," Romania choked, his voice breaking. "I'm not – I'm not bringing you to Cluj. I will never..."  _Heartbeats..._

Bulgaria motioned for one of his men to tend to Turkey and Hungary. Out of nowhere, the smallest and scrawniest thug of the group cautiously stepped forward and hopped into the train wagon. He wore a long loose patchy jacket with long strips of bandages wrapped around both arms and hands, one sleeve was torn off, and a shadow obscured his face. The small thug took a moment to feel the floors and surroundings with careful hands. He had on striped pants and mud encrusted boots, and judging by his behaviour, he seemed blind.

"You're in charge of these two," Bulgaria told the thug. "Address one as Sadık, the other as Elizaveta. Let me know if there's trouble." The silhouette nodded. "I'll be at the engine room with this one," Bulgaria finished, grabbing Romania's wrist to lead him away.

However, Romania watched the figure stand up and shape into a young boy.

_Heartbeats…_

He was beguiled by the boy the moment the dawning sun lit a part of his face. His appearance was all too recognizable and it made Romania's heart ache. The dark hair was there with its two little knots, the face was in tact and unscarred; only a white rag was tied around his forehead. His right eye pupil was milky white, blinding him on one side. Tied around his waist was what looked like Romania's double pistol holster, and tucked with it were the two Dracula pistols – Bulgaria had given this particular boy his pistols because... Immediately, nothing stopped Romania from calling the boy's name.

"Moldova!" Releasing his arm from Bulgaria's grip, he leapt into the wagon, almost stumbling over Turkey and Hungary. He engulfed the boy in a hug only to be violently pushed away.

"What the – ?! Don't touch me!" yelled the startled youth, backing away from him. "What are you talking about?" His one good eye was tinged with fright and his face showed utter confusion. 'Moldova' pursed his lips, feeling as if he should say more but held his glare.

Romania took a step forward, but the frightened boy flinched back even further, firmly saying, "Stay away from me."

"But you're Mo –" Romania searched for words. "You're hurt. Don't you know – "

"I don't know what you're talking about," Moldova cut in indignantly, showing a glint of his two little fangs, so much like his own only smaller.

Romania began finding it hard to keep himself composed; he didn't know how to react and a sob was rising up his system, threatening him to break down. Moldova was his baby brother! They were both fanged Nations who wore little hats, played together, and tormented each other with jokes and laughter!

Romania's heart felt it. The heartbeats that he had ignored thinking he was going insane were Moldova's indeed. He was so convinced the boy had died long ago that he did not expect this at all.

"I only needed to find you to tell you he's still alive," Bulgaria chortled outside the train car. "Turkey had already said it. You're lucky. You're lucky, Romania."

"But…" Romania shook. He could not bear to turn away from Moldova's bemused face, but the boy looked away from him like he was a complete stranger. "Why…No. No, no, no. Moldova listen to me –"He bounded up to Moldova and pulled out the hat he had given the child so many years ago.

He cornered the boy who looked up at him dazed, his arms rising in defense.

Struggling to smile as he had been all morning, Romania cried, "LOOK! This is yours!" he could feel his voice shake and his eyes blurring, "You – you used to wear it all the time! I have one just like it!" His laugh was a warble. "We told each other jokes! Remember the Vlad joke I told you about? Remember the prank we pulled on Russia? Remember the time with the brown bear? The tour around Peleș Castle? That one time with Prussia? The game hide-and-seek? You – you used to…"

The boy looked at him oddly, frightened like he was about to be abused by the tiny hat and the maniac holding it. "I really don't know what you're talking about! Leave me alone!" He yelped, stumbling back against the wall, ready to curl up in a ball. "I'm sorry but I don't remember you! Just get away from me or I'll – I'll call the others! Mister Zhivko, help!"

Romania's eyes widened.

Even though the boy was blind in one eye, he still managed to run right by, scramble outside to Bulgaria, and remark, "That man is so weird. I believe he's inhaled too much toxins."

Romania choked on a lump in his throat, his knees about to buckle. Moldova had no memory of him. Bulgaria placed a hand on Moldova's shoulder and whispered something to the boy.

Leaping back into the wagon, Moldova pulled out a knife and made a move towards him, pointing the weapon threateningly to his chest. "Get out of here Mister," the boy said harshly. His eyes were fearless, his stance was steady. He was the Moldova that Romania had raised, the intelligent little boy who could work on his own…the boy he found and called little brother those many years ago. "I said, get out!" Moldova ordered. "I'm busy. I have to take care of these two!"

Romania reached out a hand one last time. "Mo, I –"

"Can't you see that I don't  _know_  you?" the boy fiercely declared with a tinge of pity for him. "Just leave us alone already. Now if I were you, I would follow orders and start this train before –"

"You heard him," Bulgaria cut in. Romania didn't bother to face the traitor, he felt paralyzed. "Before anyone gets hurt, Ro," Bulgaria continued coolly, "Start this train…start it soon…please."

Water clouding his eyes, Romania glanced at the knife Moldova strongly held. It was the same one he had; Bulgaria had given it to the boy to use against him.

Hungary stirred awake, glancing up at them trying to analyze the situation, but Romania could no longer stand it all. He dropped Moldova's hat, leaped off the wagon, and zoomed by every passenger car filled of brutes. Splashing through puddles of water that weren't there before, his heart raced away with him, his lungs stole in thick and thin air with every breath. When he reached the engine car he was choking in blood and frustration, a feeling that was a blend of laughter and tears, similar to despair and insanity. Struggling to stay upright, he bounded into the driver's cab and crawled to a corner.

There were smears of blood against the walls and floors, left behind from the past crime. In the engine room, he never took the time to look at every gage, filter, indicator, pipe and switch printed with blood splatters. He hadn't the time to check the whole engine car if fuel tanks, batteries, radiators, compressors, and water valves were in condition to travel. At the moment, he didn't even have the energy or the mood to check the air filter for proper ventilation. The control stand was a mess but he simply did not care. In fact, he no longer cared. He stopped caring...

The whole room suited the mood. Heat, blood and metal. He harked out a mix between a laugh and a cry. He figured he should distract himself and distract himself he did.

He reached forward on the driver's desk and closed the throttle, turned the controller handle from Neutral to the reverse direction, and closed the battery switch. He could recall a few tricks from Illes and the other engineers. Though he wished he could just curl up on the floor in misery that moment, he urged himself to drive this train. He had to just keep moving before Bulgaria would – would do anything else to anyone.

 _"Master Anghelescu, just follow de main lines we've mapped,"_  he remembered Illes telling him.  _"From 'ere you just drive up north 'n through Simeria and Alba Lulia. Ye'll hit Cluj..."_

_"I can't just pull a lever and start the engine? It isn't that simple?"_

_"Can I tell you 'bout de train first so ye can drive it true?"_

_"Sorry. Go on, Németh."_

_"Well, make sure ye check the engine always._ _'Tis a diesel multiple unit._ _Same thin's used in some me trains in Hungary. Though 'm confused yer callin' dis yer Dacia Express when 'tis clearly one made from Arad. Ain't this one of them Seimen Desiro DMUs…_ _?"_

_"I know, I know. I just like the fancy name."_

_"Yeah? This ain't an EN but this is even better bein' an IR."_

_"O…K…?"_

_He remembered him chuckle._ _"I ferget yer brains got no trains."_

_"Don't make me lose your train of thought now."_

_Illes had laughed again before continuing on. "EN's yer ol' dead Dacia Express, travelin' them long rails to Austria. EuroNight, ye call them, 'member? Yeah. Them buncha InterCity ones ain't cut out for de 'pocalypse. This train's an IR, an InterRegional. Meanin' ye can go 'round yer place from Cluj, Arad, Timişoara 'n here, Craiova._

_"What ye got here is a burnt up, crappy lookin' one. Poor thing. This Desiro trainset, prob'ly used ter be, I'm bettin', Class 48, 49?" he'd laughed once more. "The shitty state it's in now, I tell yeah this is barely under a Class."_

_"Hey, don't hurt its feelings. It survived this long."_

_"With yer luck 'nd witchcraft." Illes had smiled._

_"Anything else I should worry about?"_

_"Besides runnin' oughtta fuel? Naah. Tis' got 'nough cars and 'nough guts to bring you back home…"_

_Thank you, Németh,_  he thought, closing the fuel pump and the control switch.  _Enough_ guts _alright…_ He handled the engine-start, and then idled the locomotive for a moment to cool before the igniting the fiery blaze within. The wheels burst with life and the slow doom of his beloved Cluj was initiated. Slowly but surely, the energizing train inched forward.

He could barely believe what he was doing. He was driving the train straight to his own misfortune. He was bringing a band of gnashing teeth to his people. He started to wonder if Moldova had turned like all the other thugs he was with.

He huddled his legs in a tight embrace and let a couple of tears slide down his face. He only had minor cuts and bruises nevertheless he felt so wounded and stabbed. He had lost good people and worst of all, his own little brother…

"You only assumed he was truly dead when you were given the hat," Bulgaria pointed out, joining him in the engine car. He still had his spear, but it was sheathed behind his back. Holding an empty beer bottle, Bulgaria sat beside Romania with all innocence.

The Bulgarian felt at ease and acted like it was just a normal, casual day outside. His tone matched the insensitive behaviour in every way. "You also only assumed he was dead when you had searched for him and failed…"

"'Long gone' you said," Romania retorted.

The other Nation paused and placed trembling fingers to his temple. "He is, Ro," he said, "I only needed to find you to tell you he's still alive. To show you I still care. I still care about you and Mo…I thought when he saw you, you'd trigger old memories. But it didn't…"

As the train drifted in course for Cluj-Napoca, so did Romania's mind. He was trying hard to deafen his ears from Bulgaria's words but a part of him paid close attention, because at last Bulgaria was telling the whole story...

One single boat carried a group of starving men around for an unbearably long time until they turned into desperate souls, and started drinking the water beneath them and eating the corpses they fished out. They stumbled upon a lost Cyprus whom his men had attacked. Bulgaria had sincerely tried to stop them even took desperate measures in doing so, but was too late to save the Nation-being much to his dismay. Later they had found a fishing boat carrying Moldova. Before the boy was bludgeoned to death like what happened with Cyprus, Bulgaria had intercepted his men in time. Half of the boy's brain had been disturbed by the sea, and with it lost were an eye and some memories.

"My people c – couldn't help themselves!" the Bulgarian stuttered, shaded with despair and exhaustion as if the words were suddenly too heavy to say. "I will not ask you to forgive me…or them."

"Bul…" Romania closed his eyes, unable to keep his voice from quaking to a sob. "You gathered a bunch of screwed up crazy people…"

"I rescued them!" Bulgaria proclaimed. "There's nothing left to eat, and there was barely anything left around where I found them! It was all shit and water and filthy air stuffing our insides – screwing our heads! I figured they needed help and I found you! And –"

Romania covered his face with his hands. He felt that he should cover his ears before anything else could tear at his heart.

"And…" Bulgaria sighed miserably. "I'm really sorry about Moldova…"

"Don't..."

"I did say it true. He's long gone…But I've taken care of him and I will continue to take care of him."

A long silence followed. There was only the train's engine making fuming noises, and the rhythm of the wheels gliding on the rods of the railroad.

"So…Ukraine, isn't it?" Bulgaria chimed, his voice breathy with hope. "And I want to go everywhere else. Everywhere else, Ro! Everywhere else…everywhere…"

"Stop it – what else do you want from me?" Romania was surprised he had managed a leveled tone, but he had probably sounded hoarse from all that had happened. "You took the lives of my patrol men, my br – "

"I did not do that," Bulgaria said quickly, nodding his head, "My men did! They misunderstand me sometimes…"

"You taunted me with the letters left on the corpses of my men! There was a Hungarian chant in there that sounded like you want to kill me!"

"I would never want to kill you, Ro! Those letters weren't from me. I was not even anywhere near the thugs when your patrol was killed," Bulgaria's shoulders sagged and his voice shook with remorse. "Like I said, they misunderstand me sometimes…they misunderstand…"

 _That will be a beautiful time, that will be a good time,_ sang the haunting lyrics _. Then Alexandru won't be the winner!_  Romania no longer wanted to listen. He turned his back to Bulgaria.

There was another long silence before Bulgaria spoke again, though the words sounded distant. He went on about water-logged bodies floating all over south of Hungary and Austria. Raising the beer bottle to display, Bulgaria said something about materials drifting into shores, and several of the materials were beer bottles with replicated messages inside.

Bulgaria nudged him. "Ro, snap out of it," he muttered. "Clear your head for a moment, will you?"

There was an ironic sense to the act, it made Romania faintly think of a joke, but instead of lightening the mood, he took in what else Bulgaria had to say.

"What's this…?" Romania asked, glancing at the bottle Bulgaria held up. Inside was a rolled message and with a quick swing, Bulgaria shattered the bottle to a million pieces. The noise startled Romania wide awake. Bulgaria gave him a stern look and handed him the rolled up message.

"I had found several of these at the north eastern part of my flooded country," Bulgaria said as Romania read every word written on the sopped piece of paper. "Each beer bottle has the same message. Each message said…"

"'… _Roderich is looking for you, Liz_ ,' " Romania read out loud. "  _'We'll just keep tossing out beer like this for you to find… signed Gilbert.'_ "

_'P.S. We know you're still alive out there so find us, seriously...'_

And with that, Romania tore the letter to shreds, like he did the ones before. He started conducting not a train but a plan. ' _Tis' got 'nough cars and 'nough guts to bring you back home…'_ _Thank you, Németh…_

_Then Alexandru will be the winner._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A régi mániám  
> Tankkal végigmenni Románián  
> Egy szép nagy Tigrisen  
> És a két kezünkben gránát legyen  
> Te szép gyergyói út  
> Langyos esti szél a fülembe súg  
> Az lesz majd szép idő, az lesz majd jó idő  
> Akkor majd Ceaucescu nem lesz nyerő!
> 
> ( Hungarian for:
> 
> My old passion is  
> To drive over Romania with a tank  
> With a really big Tiger  
> And a grenade should be in both our hands  
> You pretty road to Gyergyó  
> The warm evening breeze whispers into my ears:  
> That will be a beautiful time, that will be a good time  
> Then Ceaucescu won't be the winner! )
> 
> ***I hope this lyrics doesn't offend! I was reluctant to add this, but I wanted another trigger for Ro to get mad again, ya know? And yes, I replaced Ceaucescu's name temporarily for the fic's sake.
> 
> ** "Bulgaria said quickly, nodding his head..." (Reminder: Bulgaria nods his head to say 'no' and shakes his head to say 'yes'. Hima said it was an old habit that he was trying to stop doing. Romania used to help him socialize and break the habit. I chose to refresh this bad habit in him for sanity reasons.)
> 
> **I realized he's only called Hungary 'Magyar' once here.
> 
> **"Remember the time with the brown bear? The tour around Peles Castle? That one time with Prussia? The game hide-and-seek?" (( That line was a shout out to Dark (fanfiction: DarkShadowRaven) with his brown bears, Emma (tumblr: francofous) - need I say more? - and Kahl (tumblr: godswounds) with your Prussia and hide-and-seek games ))
> 
> **Dacia Express info ( Yes, everything Illes has stated is true. The 'Dacia Express' in this fic is different than the one in real life. Like Ro said, he just liked the name. The diesel trains in this fic are one of the InterRegion ones, meaning they're both operating in InterRegion routes, and so much to Hungary's dismay, it can't travel all the way to Austria or directly - also because of loss railroads and river expansion. Reminder too, they're running on crappy car fuel. How is this one running? Romania's witchcraft. :D Naah.)


	13. Interlocked

"Oh good, you're awake!" Belgium giggled. She sat cross-legged in front of him, as if she had waited years for the Swiss Nation to come alive.

Switzerland stretched his limbs, feeling every twisted muscle groan from an uncomfortable sleep. He cried in pain as he felt old and new wounds wake up. At least his fever had died down.

"You know what?" exclaimed the Belgian scooting over to sit beside him, oblivious to his agonizing exercise. "We're untied and we could easily escape in a blink! While you were asleep I've located a blind spot against the goons. We could escape no problem. Maybe we can find my brother ourselves…"

Switzerland nodded tiredly. After rubbing his eyes, he noticed his wounds were neatly wrapped in pieces of cloth; most likely Belgium's doing. Her spirit had probably kept her awake and active ever since Switzerland's capture. He noticed two little pieces of metal he'd thought were loose bolts at first, but then he realized it was the broken bullet that had shot his leg. Belgium had dressed his bullet wound while he was asleep, and it was a decent tourniquet.

"They destroyed the Scarlet Baron…" Switzerland grimaced, jerking his knee to test the aching thigh wound, the stinging pulsed through his veins. He started prodding the area to get used to the excruciating pain. It was not good to leave a wound like this at all.

"I know," Belgium pouted. "I liked that cranky little red seafire. But hey, it's got us this far and there's always a Brightside to these things. They  _are_  taking us to this 'Dutch man', and there's another plane out there, and –!"

"Sure," snorted the Alpine.  _Another plane? What an imagination,_  he scowled. "But what if this Dutch man isn't your brother? How can you be so certain?"

"Don't be silly," the Belgian chuckled. "I am still alive aren't I? If these captors were just a bunch of creepy jerks, then I would have been dead back there. They're keeping me alive for a reason and they keep mentioning the 'Dutch man'. I have a plan B if need be."

"I hope you're right." Switzerland dropped his shoulders and tested his legs to stand. A blotch of blood seeped through the bandages with every movement, but it was a lot less than hours ago before he had fainted. If he looked in a mirror he'd see his reflection paler than normal, but that was the least of his problems. Wobbling as the truck hit a bump on the road, he practiced his legs a few more times until the pain completely numbed.

He noticed the small window between them and the driver's seat was sealed. There was a transparent plastic top from a rectangular crusty container covering it, dividing them from the men. Switzerland curiously glanced at Belgium and she smiled at her crafty work.

"I can't believe those fools didn't see that yet either," she laughed. "They can't hear us at all!"

Switzerland frowned. He hung on to the wall as the truck swayed. "They might kill us."

"You worry too much, Vash."

"And you worry too little –  _oof!_ " The truck suddenly halted, jerking Switzerland forward almost to his knees. He could feel the engine idle for a moment then slowly inch forward, as if it was showing its passengers an awesome sight outside.

Belgium was quick to her feet. Jumping before the double rear doors with all energy, she fingered the lock. They were caged inside, and the only way to leave was for someone to turn the key outside. Switzerland was about to ask her what she was going to do when her leg suddenly swung straight at the doors. Boot hit metal. The kick was loud and it was heavy enough to loosen the door hinges.

"Are you mad!?" Switzerland panicked, turning back to glance at the drivers who finally stopped the truck – obviously they heard it. He could hear the guns being readied.

"I'm not –" Belgium kicked the doors again, " – mad. I'm just…" she kicked. This time the doors flew wide open and if the truck had been moving, they would've flung right out to the dusty roads. "I'm just curious to where we are." Belgium gave him a grin, and then hopped off the truck. "And you need medicine and bandages," she added.

Ignoring a couple of painful strides, Switzerland followed her, thinking she had started her escape plan. When he stepped off the vehicle he found her just standing there staring in awe at where the truck had brought them.

Rubble and concrete walls made an expanse of a 'Trading Post', or so said a vandalized sign. It was a wreckage site atop of what used to be a community centre. Rippling metal debris surrounded the perimeter, a hopeless gate that could easily be run over. A portion of the building remained, and even though there were shattered window panes, and holes along its walls, it maintained a skeletal roof over their heads like an umbrella sheltering homeless survivors. Switzerland's eyes widened at the sight of small crowds in the area – it was the largest gathering of people he had seen since leaving his homeland.

Men and women had built aisles of tables out of crates, ruins and wood. Switzerland noticed the people had loads of scavenged materials to display. They were vendors, merchants from distant safe zones, and survivors from far away bunkers. He lit up at the possibility of perhaps another Nation-being alive and maybe in the crowd. Perhaps Netherlands was among them after all.

The sound of car doors slamming snapped Switzerland out of his reverie. The driver and his two companions hurried to them with guns at a ready. Switzerland placed himself protectively between them and the Belgian.

"Sonufva – we thought yer both tied up!" growled one of the armed men.

"We were," Switzerland cut in, cautiously eyeing their movements in case one of them decided to pull a trigger. "We were untied long ago and we could have escaped. However you have a man we wish to see, therefore we stayed put obediently."

The tension seemed to ease in the air, until one of the stockier brutes suddenly laughed, "You're a pathetic, blubbering idiot." He stepped forward and raised a gun to Switzerland's chest; the heart was where a Nation-being could be killed. "The Dutch ain't seein' anyone else but the girl," sneered the man. "So we don't really need you."

Switzerland gave him a calculated look. The man looked like he was in his late thirties, and a closer look at one of his pupils revealed a strange milky whiteness forming. The Swiss Nation noted some of these men literally had blind spots.

"You don't know who you're traveling with," Switzerland told them firmly. "You've lost some of your men dealing with my friend. But I am here to look after her for you. I will offer you my full services and I will comply with your orders. All I ask is that you keep me alive until my friend is taken to this Dutch man you've mentioned. After that, do what you may with me. Kill me then, if you truly want to. Again my only wish is to get her to this man safely." He felt Belgium place a hand on his shoulder.

The men did not look as convinced as they exchange glances.

"Let 'em be fer now," a new voice boomed from behind the group. A stringy cold-faced man appeared from the dead woods opposite of the trades post. Boots caked with dried mud and ash, he lumbered past Switzerland.

"We don't have time for this," said the newcomer icily, his teeth flashing yellow. "An' we certainly don't have time for you. Now run along nd' enjoy yer little recess. If ya both want ter live, come back tonight. If ye don't –" He nodded at one of the drivers, "Let's jus' say, we'll deal with that later."

Immediately, the threatening group that had circled Switzerland and Belgium organized themselves into to slave-like robot minions, as ordered by their bitter commander. They scuttled to their vehicle, while the leader flashed a menacing twisted smile at the befuddled Nations before turning away to join his 'minions'.

Four more men emerged from the trees where the stringy man had come from, and they joined the rest of the men in front of the truck.

Hoping to investigate, Switzerland took a step towards the huddled men but Belgium excitedly pulled him to the trading post's entrance, like a young child dragging a parent to the amusement park.

He staggered to walk beside her properly, but Belgium's enthusiasm dragged him on with little care. " _We'll deal with that later,_ " the Belgian mocked jokingly.  _"Pfft_. Anyway, look at this place! It's a fabulous looking market and it's got lots of trades! I've never seen so many people in one place. They look so peaceful!"

Glimpsing back at the truck, Switzerland grumbled, "That wasn't peaceful." The last time he had been in a large crowd it had been a bloody massacre. It felt so long ago, had it really been just a few weeks? He couldn't remember. He had certainly left it all behind; the burning of Liechtenstein's things, the destruction of the Scarlet Baron…

"Bel, we don't even –" He looked to his left. Belgium was gone, vanished in the midst of the crowd. If he had to guess what Belgium was like, she would likely be in front of a vendor who sold food. No surprise he found her in seconds.

She was examining packaged food arranged neatly on a wooden plank, elevated by two wooden creates. An old woman was squinting at a shady man, paying more attention to him than to her Belgian customer.

"She's selling food she'd found from a collapsed convenient store," Belgium informed him, the moment he joined her. "Can you believe how much was salvaged? Perhaps these merchants had assisted each other in finding these goods. I don't know how they did it or where they got it all…"

Switzerland kept an unreadable expression. "Let's just look around," he pronounced sternly. "We're not here to shop…Wait…What are you trading with anyway? I'm not sure if we can afford anything with –"

Smiling, Belgium waved around a working watch and a familiar flashlight. "This watch was from one of the silly imbeciles back there," she winked. "And remember this flashlight?"

"Fine," Switzerland sighed. "Let's just buy the cheapest things here."

Belgium felt light as a feather. "Oh, I'm going to enjoy myself!" And with that, she disappeared into the crowd.

Alone but not completely bothered, the Swiss Nation explored the first few aisles. Belgium could take care of herself. Besides the trading post felt small and he was certain he'd find the Belgian again, knowing she'd go straight for a booth of clothes and food.

Suddenly the place had dawned on him. It was almost too heavenly to believe. Although the trade post reminded him of an indoor, stuffy, smelly, earthy, dusty, worn out marketplace – where vendors either looked tired, dying, or just crazy – what it had in abundance was remarkable.

Certainly the merchants had traveled from near and far, and almost all of them, as far as Switzerland could respectfully observe, had bruises, blind eyes, scars, wounds, bandaged fingers, wrinkled necks, and missing limbs. Nonetheless, displayed on tables were canned meats, fruits, corn, pasta, preserved sausages, and mysterious crates with more food inside. Bottles of beverages from beer and wine were neatly piled on more makeshift tables by the walls.

There were men and women guarding the corners of the aisles to keep people from stealing. No wonder Switzerland felt some sense of security about the place when he entered. He wondered what else the guards had besides fists, batons and blades. He wanted to asked one of them for rifles perchance but those might be too rare or just too much to ask for. He had nothing to trade anyway.

Minutes later as expected, he found Belgium beguiled by a table full of clothes. Some of the fabric had dust on it, even the seller looked like he was retired from the business; his hair was as dusty as his merchandise.

"I'm scared some of these might've been from dead people," Belgium whispered to Switzerland as she was lifting up a white shirt over her torso.

Switzerland smiled, "Most likely."

Belgium immediately returned the shirt, looking a little petrified, and picked up a box she had been hiding by her feet.

"You traded already?" he complained. "You couldn't wait for me to help you haggle for a decent price for this? What is this?"

Belgium handed him the heavy box. It was cold and damp at the bottom from sitting on the mud for so long. Belgium clapped her hands. "It's what's inside that count!" She opened the box for him, and to Switzerland's surprise it was filled to the brim with packaged preserved cheeses. "Cheeeeese!," she chuckled. "We had wine before, now we'll enjoy some cheese!"

"Cheese?" Switzerland frowned, his mouth tightening to a line.  _Of all other things. This woman. Bought damn…CHEESE?!_

"Yup! I got them from a French man back there. He reminded me of Francis. Could you imagine if all this time France has been distributing cheeses to help survivors? That man! Do you think he has a bunker full of them? I wonder how these were saved…and how or where they found them..."

Switzerland irked. "Cheese?!" he twitched. "There were sausages, canned pasta and other preserved things around here! And all you got was damn –" Letting out a frustrated noise, he led her through another aisle of tables.

This section had more variety of canned food, drinks and supplies. There were ropes, boat paddles, cans of paint and useless knick knacks salvaged from wreckage. Belgium giddily skipped to his side, as Switzerland was still carrying her box.

"What's wrong with cheese?" she asked. "Does it make you gassy? I could've gotten Twinkies back there…"

"NO! I'm just – why didn't you buy any weapons? Those are much more useful than this box of dairy and bacteria."

She laughed. "I know, but look at this. We've got German cheeses here. They're not the smelly ones and they aren't moldy. They're really good I can tell! Speaking of smelly cheeses, don't get me started on Spain's smelly cheeses. Or France's...Actually you've got some smelly cheeses yourself, Mr. Swiss Cheese."

Switzerland let out an exasperated noise. "My cheeses smell better than those of Germany's and France's. People are starving and why would anyone give a damn about cheese and their smell?" Belgium was smiling at him. "Stop that. You have  _Herve Cheese_  to think about."

"Oh, true!" squeaked Belgium, trying to contain another burst of laughter. "I know. I have the smelliest cheese of them all! It's so good though. Oh, have you ever had  _Limburger_? A Limburger sandwich?"

He glowered.

"Switzerland, what is wrong with you? I thought you'd love the cheese."

"None of that matters now." Switzerland tried to skim through the tables to find something else to trade with the whole box of useless cheeses, but he grew too frustrated. The noise of the crowd was getting to his nerves, and the stuffy space was making him edgy, the whole aisle smelled of paint and it was making him dizzy.

"Here, just take your cheese and do away whatever you want with them," he returned to her the cheese box. "I need some fresh air, and don't trade for anymore useless crap! I'll see if I can find something practical. I don't have any money but I'll steal to if I have to."  _And if one of the guards catches me for it, I'll steal whatever they have on them_ , he added in his mind.  _I want weapons._

Belgium raised a brow. "Vash? Don't you see?" She fished out one of the cheeses with a hopeful smile. "Say cheese!"

"Cheese?" Confused in vexation, he shook his head. "What do you mean? There's no value to –"

Belgium lost her patience. "Do you really think I would sell out a precious working watch just so I can buy a box of a dozen of delicious cheeses for my own?" Belgium puffed indignantly, deeply insulted. "I'm a rich country and you think I don't know trading business? Not only did I learn a thing or two from my brother, but I know value when I see it. Sometimes I think you give people very little credit, you high and mighty king of the Alps. Here!"

She furiously stripped the wrapping off a cheese and shoved a morsel into Switzerland's open mouth. "Have some cheese!" She shot him a defiant frown and turned her cheek. " _Hmpf!"_ Belgium marched away from him once more with her box in hand. She almost tripped over a broken crate of beer before she ambled into the crowded aisles, poised, her nose held high.

Remaining where he stood, he chewed on the cheese she had rudely pressed in his tongue. Switzerland had to admit that was a really good piece of cheese, very well-preserved and tasty for something he'd expect to be poisonous that survived this long. Maybe she was going to manage a few good trades for the cheeses after all.

Disgruntled, he rolled his eyes. His gaze flickered to a shiny beer bottle from the broken crate where Belgium had tripped. Approaching it, he noticed the bottle was empty cradling what looked like a letter inside. When no one was looking, he broke the cap against a table shattering the mouth piece of the bottle to steal the note. Reading it, his eyes narrowed and his breath quickened as if a new kind of haunting had clutched his heart.

'… _Roderich is looking for you, Liz_.  _We'll just keep tossing out beer like this for you to find… signed Gilbert._

_P.S. We know you're still alive out there so find us, seriously...'_

"Roderich…Gilbert…Elizaveta…" he murmured the names as if his lips had forgotten they even existed. Swallowing a heavy lump in his throat, his fingers tightened around the dog-eared page, fearing if he let go it might disappear like an apparition. "You're still…alive," he uttered, slowly folding the piece of paper. The smell of fresh paint trickled to his nose again, this time reminding him of the graffiti at the aerodrome.

"That beer bottle wasn't free you know," said a German behind him. The voice sounded layered but sharp, and it had a familiarity to it that Switzerland did not hesitate to wheel around.

Standing in front of him was a hooded man, wearing a belt that sported a couple of yellow spray cans, his uniform was tattered, and his hood was shadowing his faint violet-red shaded eyes. Tufts of platinum hair peered through the hood and his iron cross glinted against Prussian blue. A grin was plastered on his face like he'd been some sneaky devil hiding just out of sight all these months.

Paralyzed, Switzerland was unwilling to walk up to the man. "So you…are…alive," were the only words he could muster. Everything was falling into place now. "Prussia...?"

"SHHHhhhhh!" The other Nation shushed him extravagantly, as if the name was deeply classified. His grin grew wider with every whispered word, "Just the awesome Gilbert out here. Between you and me, yeah I'm the Awesome Prussia! But I'll still call you Switzy, because I'm so awesome." Prussia made a move towards him but Switzerland took a step back.

"STOP!" yelled the Alpine, panicking. "You're not real! Are you…?"

Prussia smirked. "Duh, I'm the real deal! Switzy, are you high on paint or something? And I thought I was."

"But…how? When? Where's…?"

"Ah! Shhhhhh! Let's walk and let's talk."

Prussia led him to an aisle opposite to the entrance of the trades post. The section had the building's wall on one side, and piled up crates on another. He and Belgium had not ventured this far, and there were no vendors here because of the barricade of crates. The aisle was ridden with waste, and was the worst and smelliest section of the market.

"It's so awesome to see you alive!" Prussia began, settling on top of one of the crates. "You don't know how hard it is to find people without West's awesome tracking skills. I can't track for shit but thank the awesome lords for my guys to help me out!" He chortled, offering Switzerland an open can of pasta. "My super stealthy gang of ninjas had been tagging our aerodrome. The graffiti was to tell people to fuck off, but that didn't stop you and your girlfriend did it? Where'd she go by the way?"

"Belgium's not my girlfriend." Switzerland gulped down the whole can like a mad drunkard. He swallowed. "I'm helping her find her brother."

"Belgium?" Prussia smirked. "But you two barely know each other. I though your sister's –"

"She's –" He glared at the Prussian. "She's gone." Switzerland wiped his mouth with his sleeve. "What about Austria? Where is he?"

Prussia waved a hand. "He's fine. We got a shelter down at Branau. He's just moping around in a corner crying about the silly girl-boy we've been trying to find. I looked around her place for a little bit and found nothing but dead shit and stupid water all over the place. We'd been searching for a couple of months until stupid Austria gave up and has been sitting in his stupid corner in his stupid miserable shelter ever since. He just sits there like he's dying, like seriously! So  _I_  awesomely set out, found beer and sent messages. I'm going to find Liz, and nobody's stopping me. All I need is to drive further east!"

"But for God's sake –! " Switzerland broke off. He was about to ask why Prussia with the ability to control planes and arrange aerial search parties, had not searched for other Nation-beings such as Germany or Poland or Italy or...The Alpine pictured a broken Austrian sheltered in rubble, shadowed in despair thinking his ex-wife was long gone, and Prussia trying to cheer him up and take care of him like he was an elderly man.

Switzerland realized Prussia would not give up the search for their third member, because missing her was like missing a piece of their circle. The Swiss Nation had always seen the three of them so close, no matter their little arguments. His shoulder's sagged, reminded of Liechtenstein, who had left a hole in his heart. "…What about Ludwig?" he asked.

"West?" The Prussian shrugged. "Don't know. I know he's still alive and kicking though."

"How can you be so sure?"

"You know how awesome my people – West's people, are?" Prussia fiddled with one of his spray cans. "Sure, everyone's either injured or weak and dying, but at least we're not all eating each other like from what I've heard down in Serbia and Hungary. West and I did a good job with the bunker planting, and although I still smell dead guys everywhere, you have no idea how lucky some of us are.

"Anyway, nobody's ventured further to the east because we've heard about some shitty things happening there. But my plane and I are planning to scout down there to see for ourselves what the crap is going on. I don't know if my plane has enough fuel, but I think if I could just make a trip there after fetching stupid Austria, we should have enough. My plane is too awesome to die on me now."

There was a heavy pause, until Switzerland pressed slowly, "How many times have you flown your planes ever since the Calamity?"

Prussia grinned, "Just a couple of times! I am very thrifty with the fuel and electricity we've got left."

The news wasn't completely reassuring, but that meant Prussia's plane would be able to take them to a few more places before it would completely run out of fuel. The only thing that mattered was the amount of people his plane could carry. Switzerland had the urge to disappear and find Belgium and tell her Prussia was alive and so was Austria, but a thought suddenly struck him dumb.

"Prussia," he started, "There was a red plane that Belgium and I took from your airport. Did you by any chance bomb it after following us all this time?"

Prussia chuckled as if he had just told a joke. "Obviously I did!" Prussia admitted. "I mean come-on! You wouldn't want my planes to be in somebody else's hands? I knew I was following a Nation-being the second my hoodlum chumps told me what you looked like. Though I didn't know you'd get into trouble that fast. Anyway, speaking of Belgium let's go get her and let's get out of here." Prussia hopped off the crate. "We're flying ASAP. We're going to Austria! I can't wait to tell him you're alive."

"No!" Switzerland called. "I mean, yes but not yet. Tomorrow in the afternoon. I promise you. We'll meet you here. Right here, in the trades building how's that?"

Prussia beamed under his hood. "You two need one more night alone?"

"We're meeting her brother tomorrow at dawn," Switzerland said in monotone, brushing the comment aside.

"Netherlands?" The Prussian lit up. "That is awesome! I didn't know he's alive too. My plane's a two-seater, but  _sheesh_ , there's enough room for us to sit so long as we sit on each other's laps. Can Netherlands sit on you? Sitting on my lap, I want Belgium's hot as–" Prussia cut his sentence short the moment he noticed Switzerland giving him a frigid glare. "Asymmetrically sitting…on me…uh…" Prussia lost his words. "Um…Heh, heh? Forget it. She can sit on Netherlands. Heheh." Prussia wiped the back of his neck. "Are you, like, her new adopted brother or something?"

Ignoring the comment, Switzerland strode past him. It was late in the afternoon and he should find Belgium if they were going to meet up with the brutish men and her brother. He gave Prussia a sad, sideways glance, asking, "Don't _you_  want to see her?"

"Who – oh, Belgium?" Prussia shook his head. Out of the blue, the Nation saw a hooded boy peering over a pile of creates – the child was the same one that Belgium and Switzerland had encountered at the aerodrome. Prussia hastily nodded to the kid who sped for the exit, and he quickly followed, throwing final words to Switzerland. "That can wait until tomorrow, Switzy! I gotta go back to my plane. I don't want any shitheads finding it!"

Before Switzerland could acknowledge the farewell, the man was gone, yellow spray cans clinking against his belt as he disappeared.

Fewer people were milling around the aisles, and it was much easier for Switzerland to distinguish individuals from the crowd. Securing the note from Prussia's beer bottle in his pocket, he passed by the paint-smelling section again, the odor remained intoxicating.

He accidentally bumped against a couple of people without much thought. Wondering where the crowds go to once their businesses were done, he looked up. Vendors were setting up beds for the night; customers huddled in groups in the corners of the building, and guards were still keeping watch. Meanwhile other customers ventured out to the deserted parking lot.  _Probably to find a melted car to sleep in,_ Switzerland presumed.

 _Where else will they go but sleep around here for the time being?_  A tall man roughly bumped against his shoulder almost threatening to bruise, causing a bit of his old wounds to ache all over again.

" _Godammit,_  watch where you're –" Switzerland caught a glimpse of the man who had zoomed past him. The man's back was turned and he was slowly swallowed up by the bodies of people. Switzerland stumbled forward, trying to catch him. He wore a dark, brown long coat, and a blue and white striped scarf trailing behind him. The height was familiar and the spiky hair confirmed the identity. The man was Netherlands. "Wait! Stop!" Switzerland scrambled through the crowd but the Dutch Nation-being had completely turned a corner and vanished. The surrounding people threw him bemused glances glances as if he had seen a mere ghost.

Switzerland breathed slowly and cleared his mind. His hand reached up to brush his hair off his face, but a stinging sensation erupted along his palm. Blood bled through his hand and he examined it. He was mesmerized by the sight of a small pocket Swiss knife hanging by a shred of his sleeve; one of the blades had clumsily cut his palm. His eyes widened. He had lost his own Swiss knife, and where else had this one come from but from the Dutch man who had sped right past him.

When he left the trades building, he noticed the skies were much darker as the afternoon slipped into night. He found a trail of smoke that lead to a small campfire down the road; a familiar truck was parked beside it.

Belgium was sitting comfortably in a circle with the brutish men, a flickering campfire in the middle and a pile of crates he hadn't seen before. The smell of cooked food taunted their noses; they were boiling some soup in a pot over the fire. Sitting happily beside a pile of crates, arms open and welcoming, the Belgian looked up as he approached, even the men turned their heads to him. Switzerland took notice of Liechtenstein's ribbon still tied around her hair.

"There's my absolutely punctual blonde boyfriend!" sang Belgium, her grin was as wide as a Cheshire cat, and there was something behind it that was telling him this was all an act. Switzerland rolled his eyes, mildly amused. The men, or so-called 'minions' laughed at him and teased him as he settled down beside her. Surprisingly, the minions had there guns either pocketed or by the side of their seats, and Switzerland detected no threat. The stringy leader of the group was not among them

Belgium dramatically looped her arms around his waist, and then played with his collar with a pout on her lips. "These bad guys don't want you to come along with me tonight to meet my brother." She sighed loudly. "Oh! My darling, you must! I can't do this without you!" She glanced at the rugged men sitting in front of her. "Really gentlemen you must let him," she begged with puppy dog eyes, "Let him come with me I beg you! Please? Pretty please?"

Switzerland bit his lip. If he did not play along with Belgium's game, he'd looked like a bewildered, confused idiot. "Um – uh – yes! Let me –" he stuttered, putting on a smile as best as he can, "Let me go with her, please? My darling needs me."  _Great, what am I doing?_  He cleared his throat and reluctantly laced his fingers around hers, and then he looked at the men with pleading eyes. His face had probably appeared awkward to them, and he was turning beet red.  _Is this absolutely necessary?_  he kept thinking. "You have to let me in on this," he said like he was talking to people who would not give free food. "I did offer you my services..."

"Yeah, but if we're gunna let you in," beamed one of the rogues, "Ye best dress for de occasion. Our boss don't like rule breakers."

Belgium clapped her hands. "Excellent! He'll behave!" She hugged Switzerland once more, arms around his neck and this time she even dared to plant a kiss on his cheek. "You better behave."

Flustered, Switzerland opened his mouth about to protest, but all he could say was, "Uh…yes. Sure. I will. Whatever –"

"Wonderful!" Belgium raised her arms with glee, almost slapping his face. She pulled something out of a crate and unraveled the dark pieces of clothing. They were similar to that of the minion men. "You'll have to wear these," she said in a whisper. "They're, like, their uniforms. You should put them on before their boss comes back. Hurry. Put them on this instant." She handed him the clothes and a hat.

Switzerland raised a brow at her. "You want me to put them on  _now_?"

"Mhmm!" Belgium nodded eagerly – one of the men sneered and nodded as well.

The Alpine twisted his mouth. "You want me to put them on now, and right here?"

"…" Belgium blinked, finally understanding what he meant. "Oh, oh! Right, right, right!" she giggled sweetly. "Give us a moment, lads!" Taking his hand, she pulled him to the other side of the truck away from the men.

The moment they were out of sight and out of earshot, Switzerland exhaled irritably. "What was all that about, Bel?"

"I had to make them like me. Well…like  _us_ ," she snorted. "They have to root for us, not for their string-cheese cold commander. He's coming back soon. They said he was just looking for a can-opener..."

"I don't believe that," said Switzerland, replacing his uniform with the dark, tattered trench. Belgium helped him with the mud-coloured hat and even replaced the scarf around his neck with a new one. It smelled like dust, but it was far better than what he'd been using.

"There!" smiled the Belgian, fixing his collar, "You look just like one of them."

Switzerland gently moved her hands away from him. His eyes darted from his new clothes to the pile of crates, and the men laughing around the campfire. "I'm guessing you got all these from the cheese?" he asked.

Belgium just blinked at him. "Just trust me next time." She was inches close to him wearing her usual smile; her glow of optimism was as radiant as he had last seen it.

Belgium had said she was described as a bland person who wore boring clothes, but somewhere inside her was a bright, fierce Nation that won the hearts of other Nations around her, especially Spain's and Romano's. Germany had even brought her flowers after the Second World War.

Switzerland had never truly known her back then; through Liechtenstein's friendship and from what others had spoken of her, he had only guessed what she was like. He hadn't even cared before, but now, if anything happened to her, he wondered what he would do after that. Belgium had said she was willing to help him reestablish his country again after they find her brother – there was still complete turmoil to deal with, caged by the Alps.

But now…one goal was so close to being accomplished! Netherlands was probably right around the corner. Switzerland wondered if he could simply leave his country be, and just be happy for Belgium reuniting with her brother. She hadn't appeared concerned for the fate of her own people; perhaps he should do the same with his, no matter the heartbreak.

Leave everything behind and move on.  _Was that what Lili wanted for me?_  Once they find Netherlands, he could help Prussia and Austria find Hungary.

His hands absentmindedly wandered along Belgium's cheek to the back of her neck. He felt her breath quicken and her eyes closed. His fingers found the ribbon tied around her locks, and he quickly untied it.

He drew back, clearing his throat. "I miss Lili," he murmured, feeling embarrassed as he tied Liechtenstein's ribbon around his palm. Belgium made a move towards him, and just as he was about to tell her he had encountered Prussia and Netherlands, somebody suddenly grabbed her arm and pulled her away.

"I told ya boys, TO TIE HER UP!" screamed the stringy man, violently throwing Belgium to the dusty ground. "NOW GET YOUR FUCKING ASSES ON WITH IT!"

The men hurried, dropping their soup cans and readying a rope. They gathered up their guns and stumbled to keep up with their boss' orders.

"YOU!" The stringy commander looked at Switzerland and for a second he could not even recognize him. "Oh, you again! The disposable one. Help 'em tie her up, make sure she's secure. 'Tis best, she can barely walk too."

Switzerland reluctantly followed the order. Belgium was bruised from her fall but that didn't stop her from fighting back.

"My brother will not like this!" she snarled, as her wrists and ankles were restrained by ropes.

The rowdy men were snickering behind her as they tied her up and made her stand on her feet. Switzerland wanted to slit the laughing throats but Belgium noticed him tense and she shot him a pleading look to remain calm. "I'll be fine, Vash," she muttered in a low voice, "I'm not completely hurt, just a little bruised that's all." Her eyes pointed to her pile of crates, which some of the men started hauling into their truck. Switzerland could hear them mumbling about how useful their 'prisoners' turned out to be.

Belgium sighed. "There are bandages in one of those crates – it's the one crate with a sticker. You need them more than I do. Please, take care of yourself first before you take care of me?"

Switzerland nodded. He placed a hand on her shoulder before he walked into the truck's load and searched for the bandages. The men left him alone. Some of them were conversing with the stringy commander for instructions; they were preparing to leave.

Hurrying to find the bandages, he tore open the crate with a sticker, and impatiently fished out a spool of gauze. As he was lifting patches of his clothes to redress his wounds, Switzerland could feel one a man spying on him.

The Alpine shot the nosy man an impatient look. "Stop staring. What do you want?"

The man straightened up and grunted. "Nothin' you can give," he huffed. Switzerland was not too far off with his impression of the nosy man, his nose was skewed like he had been punched very badly, His teeth was as yellow as the stringy man's, and he was one of the four others who had joined after the said boss appeared.

"Here," the man handed him a small bottle labeled, 'Meds'. "The girl told us yer shot. Found de bottle from down south. It's best you heal yer wounds to help her out. I don' think ye disinfected yer wounds properly."

The content of the bottle was unfamiliar to him. It was coloured dark blue, unlike the hydrogen peroxide or iodine he knew.

Switzerland did not know what to say, and blurted out the first little word that came to mind. " _Danke..._ "

From the very beginning he had wanted to rid of these rugged men, thinking they were brutes and believing the group was a lost cause – not that he had suddenly trusted them, but this kindness was unexpected.  _They have to root for us_ , he remembered Belgium say.

He hurriedly applied some drops on his shoulder and his thigh wounds, and then on his hand where the pocket knife had clumsily cut him. He expected a burning sensation, but there was nothing at all. He had no time to think about what he had just poured on himself, only hope it would heal. After dressing them with the new bandages, there was a reassuring numbness of healing.

He returned the little bottle to the nosy man, only to be waved away. "Keep it," said the stranger. "You need it more than I do. Now, hurry 'nd chase 'em down!"

The minions had already left for the trees, carrying Belgium and following their commander. Switzerland turned back to the man once more, grateful for his help and the cure. Instead of a friendly farewell, he asked, "I supposed they left you behind to guard the truck?"

The man shrugged, and patted a gun by his side hanging on to his belt. "Somebody's got to."

The Swiss Nation was about to leap off the truck when he heard, "We did thank her, ye know."

"I said we did thank her kindly for her generosity," repeated the nosy man, gesturing to the loaded crates Belgium had bought with a mere watch, flashlight and a whole lot of cheese. "We don't mean any harm. This place 's jus' hell."

Switzerland did not move. He did not know if he should. Again, he did not trust this stranger, but he did not want to disrespect him.

"…just…be careful with de boss, okay?" the man ended.

And with that, the Alpine blazed into the forest to catch up with the rest of the minions, leaving behind the fire-lit camp. His thigh stung, but the bleeding had stopped, and only the medicine's unusual dark blue colour peeked through the neatly wrapped bandages. Whatever 'Meds' was, it was surely helping him heal.

Staggering, his legs tangled with charred shrubbery, and he stumbled a few times snaking through the trees. He listened to every noise so as not to lose the men far ahead of him.

It was much darker than before, but fortunately the clinking of metal and ruffling of clothes and murmuring was enough for Switzerland to locate the group. They saw him approach.

The stringy commander was leading the pack, always staying a few steps ahead of the rest even without a flashlight. Belgium was being cradled by the second bulkiest of the group. It seemed like she didn't mind, and when Switzerland managed to steal a clear glance over at her, she seemed be sleeping anyway.

The stocky man carrying her looked at him. Switzerland gave him a tight smile, but didn't expect the man's reaction. The man gestured to hand Belgium over for him to carry instead, but Switzerland stepped away from the kind offer considering his old wounds. He did not know if he trusted this man either, but the man was much more fit than he was to carry the girl at the moment.

As they trudged on through the forest in the dark, Switzerland noted the men were prepared. Guns were stashed under their clothes; he only had the pocket knife tucked under his sleeve. Even with just a small weapon, he could still rely on his hand-to-hand combat skills. Only, he had yet to test his maneuvers with his healing wounds. He knew their guns would be his downfall.

"Halt!" hissed the boss, raising a hand to the group.

Feeling like he was suddenly a new minion, Switzerland obeyed, standing beside the man carrying the sleeping Belgian.

The boss faced his men and barked out orders. "Camp here, no fire tonight 'nd I take first watch."

The men looked for their own spots at the bases of the trees and settled themselves for a light sleep. The man who'd carried Belgium thoughtfully set her down to lean against the dead log where Switzerland sat. He nodded to the man gratefully and settled a foot away from the dormant Belgian.

All of a sudden, the stringy boss loomed over him and eyed Belgium's peaceful form. Switzerland could see the dark intentions brewing in the man's eyes – the stringy leader was staring hungrily at Belgium. Switzerland coiled to strike, as a rattlesnake would towards a threat.

Without warning, the boss unsheathed his gun and aimed it straight at Switzerland's forehead. "I want her," groaned the man, making Switzerland sick. The man's knees were shaking, his silhouette terrifying. "Get yer useless ass outta my way and no one gets hurt…Yet." The yellow-teeth grin plastered on the man's devilish face made Switzerland clench both his fists and he readied the hidden pocket knife in his sleeve. They kept their eyes locked waiting for the other to make a move and strike.

The gun clicked to shoot.

Switzerland blinked.

Shadowed hands grabbed the boss's arms before the Swiss could pounce. The gun was dropped. A tangle of limbs and a mass of bodies wrestled with the stringy leader from behind pulling him far away from Belgium. It was a quiet tackle, a rugby match between a single player and a team, and it was deadly serious. A few angrily-whispered sentences rang loud and clear. "Don't do this, boss!" "The Dutch man said no one touches her or we're dead!" "I don't want you doin' that, boss." "This isn't right!"

"GRAH!" roared their treacherous leader. He pulled himself out of the arms restraining him. "Have it your way. But he's gettin' killed tomorrow –" he pointed a finger at the Swiss Nation, " – whether you  _dummpkofs_  like it or not. If ye don' let me, I'm killin' all of you too."

The stringy boss sat at the farthest opposite end of the camp, and between him and Belgium the men seemed to have made a sleeping wall to keep the boss at bay. Switzerland did not sleep; in fact, he stayed awake the whole night, watching the whole group sleep, keeping an eye on the leader who had begun to snore, and glancing at Belgium's quiet form sleeping beside him.

Exhausted and fearful of the boss' every move, Switzerland kept himself wakeful for the rest of the night. There were moments when he felt his eyes slide shut and every time he awoke, he was either alert checking on Belgium or shuddering from a nightmare of being shot by the boss.

For the remainder of the night, he watched the skies turn from solid dark to morning orange. After the men decamped, and got back on trail, Switzerland took the opportunity to walk beside the man carrying Belgium again. The female Nation stirred awake soon after, clueless of last night's brawl.

It was another hour before they finally stopped, and according to their stringy commander, it was their last stop. The forest thinned gradually to what appeared to be another community lot – a school yard.

There was a playground in the area, and a hatch to an underground bunker was planted in the midst of it. The boss told them to remain hiding in the trees and he would give the signal to bring the girl.

The group huddled, cowering behind their leader who unsheathed his gun. Switzerland was not as concerned for his life, at this moment, he cared more for Belgium's or Netherlands. He wanted this reunion to happen, and he had to see it and live through it until the end. Once they got to Netherlands he could take care of this unruly yellow-teethed stranger. Netherlands would have a gun in hand with him, right?

Switzerland did not expect what happened next. The stringy leader looked to his left, then his right and waved his arms around as if to flag someone from the distance through the trees. Instantly, five people emerged from his left, and a group of seven emerged from his right, joining their original band of eight men including the leader.

Switzerland felt so helpless; he only had his knife while these newcomers had some sharp farming equipment and one even had a thick chord of rope. Switzerland looked over at Belgium – her eyes were wide, frantically darting around.

He could tell she did not predict this turn of events. She bit her lip, and caught his uncertain eyes. There was something he didn't hope to see.

Fear.

They stared at each other for a moment before she was placed gently on the ground. The men in the first group stepped aside, letting the stringy leader have his way.

Switzerland reluctantly stepped back, his muscles tensing up to the submission. Belgium mouthed to him pleadingly not to rescue her or it will endanger lives including his own. Switzerland stepped further back to join the group familiar to him.

Belgium could not help but speak up. "I swear to god, don't you touch me!" she shouted, writhing in her ropes as a couple of the newcomers from the two new groups approached her slowly. "My brother will not like this! Don't you dare come any closer!"

The newcomers jeered. One dared to approach her with tape. Belgium lurched forward to bite or push the man away, but a second man laughed and restrained her until her mouth was fully taped with duct tape – they taped around her jaw for good measure.

Roughly pulling her to stand up, they presented their work to the stringy leader who put on another sick grin. Switzerland could see Belgium still had some fight left in her. She continued writhing under the thick chords, trying to shove the men's grabby hands away from her. Switzerland was ready to rush forward and impulsively murder them all, but a hand placed itself on his shoulder and he turned to face the group he had traveled with. Of course! He still had some people on his side, and even though outnumbered, there was a chance they could still escape this alive.

All of a sudden, there was silence.

The stringy cold-faced leader held up a hand for complete utter silence. He was listening for something.

Everyone was.

Pass the line of trees and the school yard, the hatch opened. Everyone in the woods seemed to be holding their breath as the events unfolded – even Belgium stopped fighting to watch.

Switzerland had to squint to see, but he recognized the familiar face of the man exiting the bunker.

Netherlands climbed out of the hatch with no packed luggage on him, just as Switzerland had seen him hours ago when they encountered each other at the trades post. The Dutch Nation did not stop to look beyond the trees to where Belgium was being held.  _They were too well hidden to be seen yet anyway_ , the Swiss concluded. At least he finally got a chance to really see Netherlands' face. However, any excitement or hopeful, searching look a brother might display when he was about to meet his lost sister, was totally absent. The expression Netherland's wore told another story.

"Okay Peter, head up," called the Dutch Nation-being down the hatch. "Hey I forgot the flashlight. Can you grab it?" There was a faint answer coming from within the bunker.

 _Peter? Where have I heard that name before…?_  Switzerland's breathing hitched the moment another person climbed out of the opening. It was the Nation-being of Sealand, a young boy who wore similar clothes to that of the people in the trades post: a dark coat and worn-out boots. The boy had on goggles –  _Just like what Lili wore…_

Out of nowhere Netherlands clamped a gloved hand on the boy's mouth, stunning him silent. His other hand deftly pulled out a pistol from his pocket, making Sealand struggle under his solid grip.

More silence.

Stunned, Belgium silently tried to squirm her way out of the men's hold again to run to her brother. She vainly tried to deliver a body blow at the closest captor but she was punched in the stomach and pulled by her hair, leaving her completely immobilized. Switzerland gritted his teeth. Fuming, he kept his wrists clenched, nails dug into his palms as he resisted the urge to step forward to help.

A voice called from the hatch. Netherlands did not answer it until the figure finally climbed out.

Reaching the surface, unaware of the tall Dutch man looming over by his left with a pistol at a ready, was the bewildered face of Denmark, Switzerland could only guess that he appeared to be blind in one eye to not notice Netherlands standing with Sealand on one side of him.

"Don't move," said the Dutch Nation, pressing his cold pistol against the Dane's left-side temple.

The two words were not only heard in the school yard, but had echoed throughout the forest. Everyone anxiously waited for the trigger.

No one dared to move.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 'Meds' is clearly mentioned in Retrace's part 1 Pavements. I have been referencing some things in the past to Pavements. I'm almost done intertwining everything from that to this. Pavement readers: Remember the 'Meds' room, Ro tried to go in?
> 
> Danke (German for Thank You!)
> 
> Herve Cheese (made from unpasturized cow's milk, traditionally aged in humid caves...it's the stinkiest German cheese)
> 
> Limburger Cheese (also a German stinky cheese that literally smells like human feet, originated in 19th cent Duchy of Limburg, now divided among Belgium, Germany and Netherlands." Let's cut the cheese!" *ahem* But is mainly produced in Germany.)
> 
> **The smelliest cheese is the French delicacy "Pont l'Eveque", and there is also Spanish cheese called the "Afuega'l pitu" a stinky cheese too. Yes the cheese was meant to add to the wine they had earlier.
> 
> This chapter was specifically written to interlace/interlock with a moment in a chapter in Glassamilk's Gutters. You don't have to read that fanfic, but if you do/have already did, all I can say is...spoilers. We'll see Belgium and Switzerland again in Chapter 15!


	14. To Hell With This

_"Don't despair: despair suggests you are in total control and know what is coming. You don't - surrender to events with hope." - Alain de Botton (Swiss/British Writer and Philosopher 1969)_

* * *

 

Another white dress wrapped around her and in another dream once more, but there was a new sense in this dream and a new kind of dread: temperature. Hungary's hands wrapped around her arms, her breath were puffs of white smoke coming out of chapped lips. Her eyes stung with the cold, and her soul shivered. She could hear her fragile heels clicking against the marble floors as she made her way through the familiar hallways of the grand building where the last world meeting was held.

"Gilbert?" She called, but no answer. Her words echoed through the empty halls. Tired of searching for the ghost, and unusually cold to the bone, she sat on the foot of the stairs. The structure stood as it was on the very day of the Great World Gathering, gleaming, well-lit. But why was she feeling so frigid? Perhaps it was the emptiness. Or fear.

What else was this ghostly Gilbert showing her?

"Gilbert," she murmured, "I'm tired of all this." She wanted to wake up. She wanted to return to the real world; to the hell of bloody men, to the injured Turk, to deal with the traitorous Bulgarian, and to the Romanian she'd detested for centuries. Gazing around, she no longer saw the point in these haunting dreams. They had changed over the past few days.

Closing her eyes, she hugged herself even tighter against a bitter cold – the building looked normal, even well-heated, and it was only her alone suffering a biting chill.

Suddenly, her nose perked. There was a familiar scent in the air that made her stomach growl. Bolting to her feet, she tensed, smelling the air like it was so new to her. What was that? Chicken? Roast beef?  _Goullash?_ Pastries? What was it, she wasn't sure, but for certain it was coming from the banquet room where the Gathering had arranged the aisle of buffet tables flocked with food. Odd. When she strode past the room earlier there was no cooking, and nothing set up but empty tables.

A cold finger poked her arm.

Her heart leaped, seeing the little Gilbert ghost looking up at her. His smile was not there, instead it was a scowl set on his pale face. His garments didn't have the same glow as she had seen before, they seemed dulled and faded. The hair on her neck rose on end, the moment she saw his lips were sewn like a rag doll, and his fingertips were dripping with blood like he had been finger painting with them. He was hovering like he was hung from an invisible noose, head tilted with strange wonderment in his hollow purple-red eyes.

Hungary did not realize she had already taken so many steps away from the ghostly child.

Mouth quivering, she turned and ran for the nearest door left ajar – the buffet room. She should've remained where she was to ask Gilbert questions, but her gut told her not to approach the strange ghost. This Gilbert did not seem like the ghost she had talked to in her previous dreams.

Hungary shut the door behind her. She was not going to let that strange ghost go after her in that eerie state.  _What's wrong with him?_  she thought furiously.

Then her mind averted to the buffet set with incredible delicacies overpowering her senses. It had silver platters of gourmet food fit for kings. Fruits, salads, and meats, and even gravies and deserts were arranged neatly with them. Her mouth salivated as she roamed the table, examining each and every piece of cooking, from the very moisture of the juices, to the decorative leaf. Forgetting about the ghostly child outside the door, she licked her lips and reached for the nearest plate in front of her – it had chicken, gravy, beef cutlet, potatoes, fried –  _plood!_

Her fingers were stopped by an invisible material. Hungary furrowed her brows.  _Glass? What is this?_  She could still smell the food. Frustrated, she raised her arms and hit the glass-like thing again and again.  _Plood! Plood!_   _Plood!_  It was barring her from the food, and it was torturing her to madness.

"GRAAGH! WHAT IS THIS?" she yelled angrily. In the corner of her eye, the buffet door slowly opened. She could feel her breathing speed up as the ghostly child floated agonizingly slowly to her as if taunting her to run away fast. Hungary's heart sped with her breathing, frost paralyzing her combining with her fear.

The ghost floated closer.

She remained where she was, her arms over the glass, eyes darting from the ghost to the encased food. Shaking all over, she subconsciously let out a scream, her eyes welling with tears, shutting closed and bringing her to darkness, panic, despair…

_I don't want to deal with you anymore, Gilbert! I'm just hungry! I'm cold! I – I'm hungry! I'm –_

She did not know if she had been screaming or not, but she felt the cold chill brush beside her, making her knees buckle, horrified of what ever he would do. All of a sudden, the cold temperature burned and rose to heat and metal. The glass casing she felt on her arms turned to rust and steel, cold and hard. Her dress turned to a tattered uniform, her eyes flung wide open.

 _"He found me, Liz..."_  were the parting words of the ghost.

"What?" Hungary blinked frantically, seeing the young face of Moldova shrunken in fear under her figure looming over him. She towered over the boy, her arms raised and fists clenched, her muscles tensed all over. The moving train swayed, making her stagger for footing but it appeared like she was about to smite the boy beneath her.

Moldova was cornered against the wagon wall like a little mouse. He held a familiar pistol to her heart in defense.

"Stay back! I'm – I'm warning you! Or I'll – I'll shoot!" the boy quivered, his eyes bore no intention of doing what he threatened, nonetheless he had a finger around the trigger.

"Did I just…?" Hungary stepped back, trying to grasp what happened. The train swayed again. "I must've sleep walked. I must've –"

"You're insane! Get back, crazy lady!" Moldova raised the gun higher with new defiance.

Retreating slowly, Hungary kept her eyes darting from Moldova and his pistol, wondering if the boy was clumsy, or if he had any experience with such a weapon. She wondered if it was even loaded.

"That's right, crazy lady," exclaimed the boy, watching her back away further. When she was far enough he smirked with satisfaction, a little pointy tooth displayed. He waved the pistol at her, like it was a toy fire truck. "Let's not get carried away with our nightmares next time. Or else I'm gonna point this thing at you again."

Hungary rolled her eyes. _Just like his brother_ , she thought.

Moldova straightened up with a wider smile and merrily sat cross-legged near the wagon's entry. He started playing with the gun he held, like it was the best toy anyone had ever given him. There was a fierce curiosity in his eyes when he held the object.

He got over that crazy sleep-walk thing pretty fast, no question. Hungary supposed he was used to people going hysterical out of the blue. She shuddered.  _Of course he's used to people going insane! He's been with Bloody Bulgaria and his rogues all this time._ Her gaze flickered from Moldova to the hooded man who wore the white mask.

"Sadık?"

Turkey had his back against the wall and his limbs sprawled out in front of him with no regard of their condition anymore. He was lying there, staring out into space – something he'd been doing a lot lately. He didn't even turn to Hungary when she called him again.

"Sadık!" Hungary cried. "Please tell me what's wrong! Is it your leg? Your burns?"

Turkey put on a faint smile. "Ya, I'm okay," he murmured. "My leg's okay. While yer asleep, guess who's been tryin' to stitch up me leg…"

Hungary turned her attention to Moldova. He was looking bored of his mind of the pistol, when he caught her gaze. "Mister Anan was in pain so I thought I'd help him out," he said. "It was nothing, really…"

Turkey chuckled. "He's a good kid," he muttered to Hungary as the boy went on.

"…Mister Zhivko trusts me to take care of you two and I can take care of myself if anything…"

Hungary whispered to the Turk, "He reminds me of Alex."

"…and then Mister Anan woke up, and tried his leg. He could walk but he'll have a funny limp though…"

"Sadık, where  _is_  Alex?"

Turkey didn't leave his tired gaze from Moldova when he shook his head, clueless of Romania's whereabouts. Moldova caught their subject without knowing. "…and geez! Ever since last night when that hat weirdo was here – "

"That 'hat weirdo'?" Hungary regarded the boy.  _He's your brother…_

"Yeah, the hat weirdo," Moldova shrugged. "That guy who thinks I know him."

Hungary bit her lip. Turkey kept silent, watching them with a weak smile.

"He even dropped this thing." The boy fished out a mini round hat from his pocket. It was the little hat Romania had left behind, and it was surely Moldova's own dark blue hat, accessorized with the sunset gold-striped ribbon similar to his brother's.

Hungary stared. The boy was holding his own hat with no recollection of the Nation he carried and the brother who'd taken care of him. Hungary gasped at the thought of the boy, and wondered if he was still a Nation-being even with his identity forgotten…

"He was weird," Moldova laughed, examining the hat that held many secrets. "But this is really cute actually. A little bit childish... Ha, ha! I guess grown ups can wear silly things like this. You know, this was Mister Zhivko's. I wonder why he gave it to that guy..."

Hungary shook her head, confused. "…Mister Zhivko?"

"Yeah. The one in charge."

Did the Bulgarian informed the boy of his past or perhaps tried to recover the boy's memories in anyway? Hungary questioned, "Bulgar – Ugh, this Mister Zhivko…you think he owned that hat?"

The boy fiddled with the ribbon. "Well, yeah I mean…he said he found this near where he found me. He thought it was mine but I don't remember being a hat person. It looks pretty small for Mister Zhivko to wear on his big head."

Hungary hid a faint smile.

Moldova neatened the hat's wrinkles. "I told Mister Zhivko it could be anybody's," he shrugged. "Who knows?"

Hungary nodded sadly. She did not know how to convince the boy he owned the hat all his life. All she could come up with was a question that he had probably heard before. Her voice softened. "Have you recalled ever having a brother?" she asked.

Moldova's eyes narrowed, his lips tightened and his brows furrowed like she had asked him something he had had enough of answering. "No," he replied sharply. "You're not the first to ask me that."

If he was a dog his fur bristled. "Why does everyone think I have a brother?" he scoffed. "I don't think I've ever had a brother. If I did I don't remember him. If I did he disappointed me by not looking for me for months. If I did he must be dead by now along with the rest of my family. I don't even remember  _them_."

Hungary opened her mouth in horror. "What makes you think– ?"

"Mister Zhivko told me that my country's long gone," Moldova snapped. "Submerged in water, you know?" He chuckled half-heartedly like it was an overused joke, and his smile grew even wider. "Mister Zhivko said my lost memories save me from heartache. Yeah, I cried like a baby for a week or two, but I got over it. I left the past forgotten to move on. I've kinda been on my own, and Mister Zhivko and the guys became my brothers…sort of. I don't like some of the guys though. They've changed quite a bit. Those rascals…But Mister Zhivko is still cool..."

Hungary's jaw refused to close as she continued to watch the boy absentmindedly place the hat, not in his pocket, but on his head, between the two small tied tufts of hair he wore like pigtails.

"I remember some things," he went on, "I remember a hand pull me out of the water and put me in a boat. And that's as much as I could recall..."

Hungary choked, and blinked several times to keep her eyes from blurring. "You've stopped caring about the past and what happened before that?"

"Um…I told you it bothered me for a bit," Moldova said slowly. "I still wish I didn't hit my head nor lose an eye, but…" He sighed. "Sometimes it can't be helped…

"Sometimes it can't be helped anymore," he finished silently. His young countenance turned to stone, unreadable and almost unrecognizable to Hungary. She did not remember Moldova being so mature with his words. In fact, she had barely conversed with the boy in the past to truly get to know him. Still, the boy's change of heart was painful.

The afternoon sun streaked through the wagon's opening, making Hungary squint when she regarded Moldova once more. The boy with his little hat on created a long moving shadow as the train curved. It must have been hours riding this train, and she supposed it was way past noon.

Suddenly a man leapt into their wagon.

The figure wiped a bead of sweat off his forehead, after what must've been a challenging transfer from the engine car to theirs. Hungary took a moment to recognize the man was Bulgaria. She jumped to her feet and approached him.

He was still trying to catch his breath when she spat, "How dare you!" The Hungarian curled up a fist at Bulgaria. Conscious that Moldova was there, she lowered her voice to avoid the boy's ear. "How dare you not tell us about  _him! About Moldova!_ "

Bulgaria did not even look up. Ignoring her, he settled for a corner far from Moldova and Turkey. He turned his back from them and propped his elbows on his knees, head low, face in shadow.

Hungary bit her lip, and joined him. They sat far enough and out of ear-shot. "I don't care if you're armed," she whispered harshly, "or if you're going to stab me at any moment, Bulgaria. But please, just answer me if you have any shred of decency left in you. Tell me what happened."

Bulgaria clawed his hair, hissing, "I said I'm – I'm sorry! I – I'm taking care of him – He's taken care of. I've said enough already…"

"Have you tried hard enough to tell the boy his real identity?"

"He's lost it."

"Don't say that! He hasn't! He's just forgotten!"

"He'd almost drowned, Hungary…I took care of him. Moldova's gone, but the boy lives…Isn't that enough?"

"There must be a way he can regain his memory."

"…"

Hungary narrowed her eyes. "How dare you? Not a single mention of his life to his own brother! You had long conversations with Romania and you hadn't said anything?"

"He was so convinced," Bulgaria said quietly, "He was so convinced…so convinced his little brother was dead…I didn't know when to tell him until now…"

"Until now?!" Hungary seethed. "When he's under threat of being killed by your stupid men?! When he's lost his patrol, and when he's half beaten up?!  _That's_  when you finally tell him?"

"And you care?"

She ignored that completely. "Telling us about Moldova at this point, was all part of some grand scheme to get your people to Romania's sanctuary isn't it? What is it that you're hoping to gain, Bulgaria? Control? Your people have become unstable!"

"…" The Bulgarian lowered his shoulders. The train hit a bump and he took the chance to steady himself on the wall. He seemed to have surrendered.

Hungary turned away from the temptation to slap the man. She saw Moldova was no longer where he sat earlier, and was suddenly sitting in front of Turkey. The Turk was wide awake and mumbling things to the boy. Moldova looked attentive to what the man was saying, and then they were suddenly laughing at something one had said. Between them was Turkey's tile game,  _Okey_  – he had played it with Hungary before. He had them on his person all along, and it was nice to see him awake and playing a game with the boy.

Hungary's heart ached at the normalcy; Moldova had sheathed his pistol around his belt along with the familiar dagger, and the Turk was smiling again. She wished she could join them, if Bulgaria wasn't being so stubborn and tight-lipped.

"I know he will never forgive me," Bulgaria finally spoke. "Never forgive me."

"The repetition's annoying," snapped Hungary, shifting her gaze back to Bulgaria.

Bulgaria's light chortle sent a shiver down her spine. "I know," he slurred, "I know that I've changed. You noticed I've changed…Ro noticed too." He turned his head to her. "You know…they acted on their own, my men…you can call them thugs, goons, ruffians, rogues…whatever. I told Ro about them…they did it on their own. I can only stop them so much…Oh, and Ro told me you found letters from his dead patrol."

Hungary was about to ask about that.

"My goons acted on their own accord. They did. They did. The letters were there. One  _was_  from Ro's patrol…the other –" he blinked, " _I_  crafted…"

"You jerk – "

"Well, one of my goons wrote it. They knew a bit of Hungarian so I only had to permit them to craft that one letter. That. Letter. He's never told you about it?"

Hungary fumed. "What did it say?"

"A warning against you," he whispered coldly, his voice low and only for her to hear. "It was a warning against  _you_ …"

Hungary felt her heart beat faster. Bulgaria smirked showing the toothy grin again, and this time it said, 'Yes. You are becoming like me'. She scrambled backwards, away from him as if he was going to turn into the eerie Gilbert ghost any second.

Bulgaria's dark-rimmed eyes looked hollow when they locked to hers. "Tell me, Hungary. Have you been sleeping well lately?"

Hungary fell silent. Her throat turned dry. She could hear Turkey call for her. However, her only reply was a worried glance, and before she knew what she was doing, she was outside the wagon car, clinging for dear life against the loose railing. Hair whipping her face as the wind bellowed. She could hear water splashing against the train's wheels.

Keeping her grip tight, her eyes set on railing after railing, boots toed every groove and cranny to move forward. She could hardly breathe from the cling, but she kept going.

This was impulsive yet again, her mind rattling her with complaints of the rashness. Ignoring them, she pulled herself up the wagon's roof with every muscle. Hungary had wormed her way through a ditch of corpses in the very beginning, so she was sure able to climb up a moving train and crawl on the roof to get to the engine car.

Hungary kept her low stance along the wagon roof until she encountered her first gap. The Nation dared herself to step back a few strides and leap – she landed right. Next a few more cars to go. Was this how Bulgaria did it? I'm sure, Hungary noted. She felt some reassurance from the syringe secured in her pocket, and then she ran. She ran and leaped until she was breathless and until she was at the very front of the train.

Taking a moment to breathe heavily, Hungary surveyed the land from the moving height. The train was driving by a sunset. Paler hues shaded the black trees and the land. Faint colours reflected on the water bodies flooding the grey. There were ruined structures poking through the horizon, a sign they were just a distance from a city possibly deserted. A road sign told her everything she needed to know.  _Simeria._  They were only a few more hours to Cluj. To Romania's people.

Hungary steadied herself. Didn't he know this train was full of people who would kill without much discretion? She believed he knows. But why was this train moving forward? What was Romania planning?

She looked over the roof and found her reflection staring back at her– one side of the railroad was brimming with water and the other had the grey, ash sweeping off the rocks as the train sped over them. Hungary covered her mouth from the ash intake. At least, her lungs had not yet complained.

The final challenge was to swing herself to the engine car's entry way. The entry's steps were roughly blood-smeared and she recklessly reached for a quick hold and swung into the engine wagon.

Her boots hit first, then her palms, one hand pricking something sharp. "Ouch!" She licked the blood off the new cut. The little wound stung and it made her scowl at the very source.

Romania was seated comfortably cross-legged on the floor by the controls. A pile of broken glass from what used to be a beer bottle, were gingerly lined in a circle formation in front of him. He was observing them like they were little puzzle pieces. The train hit a bump scattering their formation, and then he carefully put them back together again.

Hungary's scowl softened. "Are you alright?"

Romania did not look up at her. "Aren't we getting along swimmingly?" he said, still observing his circle of bottle shards.

"I was just wondering," she retorted. Looking for something useful to do, she strode down the length of the wagon from the driver's cabin to the tight engine hall where she was careful not to pester protruding levers and valves. She turned to face the Romanian who was still unfazed by her presence, then she said, "I thought I'd find you here crying over Moldova –"

"I already have," he snapped, friskily moving around the broken glass pieces as if they were little army figures attacking each other. "You missed out on the tearful occasion by, um, three months - you know, when the world ended? Yeah. Oh and there was that other occasion just moments ago before I started the train, Bulgaria was here for that of course.  _Tsk, tsk_  Magyar. You really miss out on these tearful things. I know how much you love seeing me bawl my eyes out."

Hungary narrowed her eyes. "Well, I'm  _sorry_!" she yelled. He stopped moving the glass pieces around, and she sighed. "I mean, I'm sorry about your brother."

Romania gathered the glass shards with a gloved hand and slowly made them disappear with an effortless flick of a wrist – another showy magic trick he must have learned years ago. Hungary remembered he was really good with illusions and misdirection.

She stepped around him and settled on the opposite end of the blood-smeared room. Her back against the wall, she sat facing him not severely annoyed with the tight, humble space. "He wore his hat by the way," she told him.

But Romania's eyes were elsewhere, focusing on something far away, something distant.

"He thinks it belonged to Bulgaria." Hungary smiled weakly. "And…well…he also called you a 'hat weirdo'."

For a moment, the train's noise was the only sound between them. Finally, his familiar chuckle resonated.

"I  _am_  a hat weirdo," grinned the Romanian. He leaned against the wall of controls and propped up a knee for his elbow. He kept his eyes hollow and half-shut, avoiding Hungary's curious stare.

"Mo and I were side by side fighting against the Calamity," he began. "The day was going according to plan. I was prepared to handle the nasty crowds and I thought Moldova was too...

"It all happened in a day, the flashes. Everyone was in total fear. I told my brother to stay with me for just a few more days until the flashes would calm down. I'd trusted him to stay put, but I was stupid and I was an idiot. I should've known Moldova would wander off on his own. I don't know why I still let him – " Romania broke off and rubbed his temple. "Why do I trust him?  _Why_? Why did I – "

He took in a deep sigh. "The last thing he told me was that he wasn't afraid of the dragons in the forest," he said, the small smile in his lips trembled, "from that silly lullaby…

"I searched for him desperately for a week. I've even sent out so many patrol men until I lost a lot of them to God knows what. When I traveled to my little brother's country…There were so many water-logged bodies.

"There was a dagger among those bodies and I took it. Then…I just...ran away…

"I ran away from it all and I thought Bulgaria would help me, of all others. I didn't know who else to turn to after I was convinced Moldova was dead. Moving on was one of the options so I" – he cleared his throat – "I moved on and you know the rest."

Hungary's face fell. "…Romania…I know how you feel –"

"Oh stop it, you don't have a family like I do," scoffed the Nation. Hungary felt hurt but he didn't care. "Mo was right  _beside_  me. I just wish I'd done more. I wish water doesn't blind our fantastic sixth sense." He chortled disdainfully. "What a stupid weakness for Nation-beings."

"We are human too!" She flashed him a sharp glare before softening again. "You wish you hadn't been separated and I understand that! Don't think for a second I don't! I have a family too, you ass– " she stopped herself from swearing at him. Even through a depressing pep talk they still manage to hate each other's guts. She would've laughed if the mood wasn't so burdening. "The Calamity tore me away from Austria and Prussia, and everyone else I cared about! At least Moldova and Bulgaria are alive for you! I doubt Austria is still alive!"

Romania looked up at her and was about to say something, but she cut him off.

"What? It's true! I'd hoped he was still alive and now I'm not so sure, even with this stupid Immunity needle we have. I was at Austria's house when it all happened. Then I left them all behind by my own choice! I left to save my people. I ran away only to end up in a sinkhole soon after.

"Nation-beings stubbornly follow their people to the very end, right? It's our first priority." She chortled. "Something we all have in common and it can't be helped."

Romania fingered his chin. " _We stubbornly follow our people to the very end and it's something we can't help_ ," he quoted her words absently with a smirk. With a shrug, he added, "That is very true for our kind. I don't think we can escape it. It's purely instinctive."

"There's another thing you should know," said Hungary, hugging her arms. Her smile faded. There was a creeping chill in the room that made her pause and conscious of other listening ears. "It's about what Bulgaria said about me 'turning' to some insane senseless man-eater if you like to put it," her mouth twitched, "I had another dream about it and…I think it could be possible."

She calculated the new unusual behaviors she's been developing; sleepwalking, cravings for meat –ridiculously retching out cabbages – loss of sleep from the darkening dreams, and obviously the desperate Hungarians losing their minds were affecting her. Even her Immunity had not made her cough out fluids lately, and she wondered if it was still working inside her.

Romania scooted further away from her with a knowing look. He beamed, "I'm not going to say hungry Hungary…"

She raised a brow reminded of that letter Bulgaria told her about. "And Bulgaria told me he sent you a warning. What was that about?"

Romania rolled his eyes. "Oh. So he brought  _that_  up."

"What do you mean he brought  _that_  up? What else was he supposed to bring up?" Hungary scrunched her eyebrows. "He's told you more than he's told me, and I'd like to know, please."

"You're being polite," Romania smirked.

"Like you said," she gave him a sarcastic grin, "You and I are getting along quite  _swimmingly_."

"Well played," snickered the Romanian. "Then I guess it's about time I bring this up." He fished something folded and white from his pocket. He held it up for her to see clearly. It was a white kerchief, slightly spotted with blood, and it was trimmed and crafted to appear like a flower. Attached to the back of its bulb was a hairpin: Illes' final remnant of his daughter. Romania held it out for her to take.

Hungary's rueful eyes darted from the flower to him. "You think…I should have it?"

"He'd want you to have it," Romania insisted with a tilted smile. "Besides, I don't think I'm the type to have a flower on my head. I'm more of a 'hat weirdo'."

The Hungarian accepted the hairpiece. She reluctantly secured it on her hair.  _Thank you,_  she said silently. Once the flower was in place, instead of voicing her thanks she asked, "Was this what Bulgaria told you about that he held back from me?"

Romania shifted uncomfortably. "No. Um – I found that myself. Luckily it wasn't as bloodstained as – you know. Anyway – well, Bulgaria…he gave me something else that would most likely change our course." He stood up and scratched his head. "I'll tell you about that later because I think it also concerns Turkey. I think it'd be best I –  _we_  talk about it together. It's too risky for me to say anything right now – it's not that important, I think. Not now anyway."

Hungary looked at him suspiciously, but she rolled her eyes, got up and began stretching her limbs. "So…I suppose this information is purposely concealed for the time being to keep Turkey and me around?"

Romania nodded, his mouth thinned to a line.

"Sounds like blackmail."

"You can think so." Romania hurriedly turned away from her and frisked along the engine hall, checking an array of valves, hoping to dismiss the subject.

Hungary figured she'll pry him for that information later. "So…are you really taking us all to Cluj?"

"To hell with this," he said quickly, examining one of the valves and tapping it with a gloved finger. "To hell with this after all…"

Hungary gawked. "Are you serious? I'm sure you have plenty of options! You must have a plan!"

"I do." He strode over to the shelf of controls and pointed to a shorter lever by the side of the wall. "Mhmmhmm..."

For Hungary, she did not fully understand how to work trains, and all she saw were levers, long and short, attached to steel boxes of varying sizes. There were also switches and gauges she noticed, as well as circular valves with arrows to indicate pressures and fuel usage. Other than that, it was all Hungary could understand from what seemed like a boiler room with a plane's cockpit of control panels. Romania on the other hand, was pointing to valves and levers, pacing about and muttering a procedure only he could hear.

"Let me in on this plan," Hungary interceded. "I can help."

Romania faced her for a moment. "Technically, you  _are_ in on this, seeing that you are  _in_  this engine car with me – "

Hungary stifled a laugh. "Are you seriously joking right now?"

"Don't worry, Magyar, the plan's going to go swimmingly – like I said before." Peering out the entry way, Romania checked the view outside, and then rushed back with directions to hastily throw at her. "Take care of Turkey and everything else. I'll handle the train, pull a lever here and there, and attempt a hot experience, and by that I mean an explosive experience. Oh look! It's about time, and we're almost there."

"Wait," Hungary gasped, "we're almost to Cluj?"

"No." Romania pulled on a lever which appeared to be the throttle. Hungary could feel the train accelerating speed, its hinges shrieking and rattling violently. Romania smiled at her. "We're actually – "

_Badump! Badummp!_

Something heavy pounded overhead and swung its whole body through the open entry of the engine car. The figure landed in between them causing the rickety train to jolt. Hungary had to steady herself against the wall, meanwhile Romania managed to hold on to a lever.

"Master Zhivko ordered me," grumbled the newcomer, "to get in here and check on you two." He was not the tallest as far as Hungary remembered, and he was either stupid or bold enough to confront them unarmed. This man was short, stocky, heavy by the sound of his foot stepping, and he had a grouchy expression plastered on his face. She did not remember encountering him before.

On the other end of the room, Romania gleamed. "Do you happen to be the roughest, toughest, meanest of the bunch since you're the only one he's sent to check on us?"

The heavy man cracked his large knuckles. "Yeah?" he glowered. "I can crush your bones like a toothpick."

Romania looked unimpressed. "Right. But why my bones? How about hers?" He nodded to Hungary's direction. She gave him an annoyed look in return.

The heavy man gave her a sickening grin that made her bristle. "She'd be a lot tougher," said the man, "but I'll enjoy crushing her bones…" His eyes scanned her up and down, and it made her recoil and clench a fist ready to strike. Romania was right beside her then, pulling her back by the wrist, saying, "Give us a moment, Mister Heavy Man."

There wasn't enough room to have some privacy, but Romania had pulled her to the farthest end of the engine hall next to the boiling tanks – the whirring and humming could conceal enough of their conversation. He whispered, "Listen if you want to help me, could you take good care of him? Knock him out and don't make a mess."

"It will be my pleasure," Hungary snarled, glancing at the heavy figure trying to listen in on them. "What about you? What's your plan?"

Romania's burgundy eyes turned icy. "We've got enough fuel and guts in this train," he said with a sly smile, "and we're taking a detour." He let go of her and they returned to view.

The heavy man looked like he was prepared for an assault. "You two finished with your date plan?"

" _Date plan_?!" Hungary barked. She marched up to the heavy man and, with a moment of hesitation, her fist flew to his jaw, knocking him backwards – there was not enough room for him to hit the floor.

"I notice some hesitation with that punch," Romania said over his shoulder, his one hand clutching a lever.

"He's Hungarian," she admitted, keeping an eye on the heavy man fixing his jaw. She massaged her knuckles.  _He's Hungarian_ and _a heavy weight, give me a break!_  she thought.

"Well dance with him or something!"

The moment Romania had said that the train sped forward, faster than its usual speed. Hungary had no time to ask what Romania just did, her heavy opponent was already charging ferociously at her. The man delivered his strike, but when the train shrieked to speed again he faltered, and she delivered a side swipe to his ribs.

"Alex?" Hungary called.

Romania was preoccupied with a handle and a switch. "Yup?" The train's wheels were screaming and he was completely ignoring how fast the locomotive was going.

"You know – oof!" Hungary fell as the heavy man knocked her legs. "It'll be a lot easier" – she kicked the man's nose – "to let me know when" – satisfied with a bone-cracking noise and his yelp, she leapt for another blow to his stomach but the train's new jolt sent them falling instead – "you speed the train!" She hurriedly dodged another attempted blow to her face.

"I'd just pulled the fuel-pump switch and the trip cable, and I'm glad we're not stopping yet!" Romania laughed, clapping his hands.

"What?" Hungary yelped, the heavy man writhing under her arm-breaking hold.

"This diesel engine's stubborn, I think I broke it!"

Hungary twisted the man's arm this time, delivering a bone-crunching noise that made him howl. "And that's a good thing?" she asked over the man's yelling.

The train neared a curving railway. Sparks of red and yellow were lighting like flint and match outside the engine car as the wheels struggled to remain on course.

"I'm pulling the overspeed trip in three!"

A body flailed by the entry, trying to barge in. "Alex! There's more of them!"

"Two!"

The heavy man cried out. "You think I'm stupid enough to come alone? Oi! Tell Master – " Hungary punched him out cold.

"ONE!"

The yowling train sped towards a sharp corner turn.

The brakes were pulled.

The world tilted.

Her head hit metal.

The train collided with water, its frame crushed against the very force.

Everything was happening too fast for Hungary to register. She felt adrenaline rush through her like the water surging into the engine room. She was suddenly swallowed. The water tasted like warm metal and mud mixed with a sharp chemical tang. She hoped it was not acid. There was stinging her eyes and skin, and she had to blink furiously to adjust her vision. There was a chill the deeper she sunk in the depths. Light danced over her ignited by the fires of the train.

 _Fire, water and metal,_ she thought.

A hand grabbed her wrist and pulled her forward. Maybe to an exit. There were red sparks lighting around the engine hall, and then the wheels, then the roof.

She had some knowledge of boiler explosions and she knew what would happen to a heated locomotive crashing against a chilling abyss.

Water filled her lungs but the other Nation managed to help her climb up the wagon's roof.

"Geez Magyar, I thought you were a good swimmer!" Romania sputtered, drenched from the plunge. A figure loomed up from behind him. It was one of the other goons that attended to the heavy man.

"Look out!" she choked, but Romania was knocked out cold on the head before he could do anything. His unconscious body slid off the roof and hit the river. The goon went after Hungary next, armed with a steel rod, a new substitute to their bone spears – he'd probably scavenged the rod from the train's wreckage.

 _Perfect,_ calculated the Hungarian Nation.  _I know how to work spears and rods._

The goon yelled and swung a blow only to be dodged. Hungary snuck a hold on the rod's other end and her knee met his ribs. Using the rod against him, she swung its metal end to his cheek. The man spat out blood before he was sent into the water. She hurriedly searched for Romania, her eyes skimming the murk.  _He was just clubbed in the back of the head, Istenem! And he just_ had _to land in the water?! Of all the –_

Metal bent and flamed a few paces from where she stood. The boiler was going to explode.

The train was half submerged and it was sinking slowly into the riverbed. All of its wagons were disappearing with only their rooftops peering over the surface like hollow logs and crocodiles. The hot engine was growing agitated, pressed by the chill. It was going to explode in fury within a matter of minutes, or seconds…

Hungary caught a glimpse of Romania's body floating close by. Fortunately there was only a steady current, and it was too light to sweep anyone astray. Without thinking, she tossed away the rod and dove into the river. When she resurfaced she had an arm around Romania's chest. He felt like a block of ice, but he was breathing – and coughing out water at her face unnecessarily.

"Please don't tell me you suffered concussion and memory loss," she spat, keeping them afloat. She didn't wait for an answer. Her eyes searched for land. To her surprise it was not very far. She began swimming towards the muddy bank, holding on to the Romanian.

She had to admit, he had orchestrated this explosion quite well. The railroad was divided into two directions, one over a river and the other was a sharp turn. He had stopped the train right in the middle of a sharp turn. This caused the train to tilt and crash into the river, then curl and crumple; the engine wagon ended up closer to the other side. The train's collision wrecked the bridging railroads, but the train's wagons still formed a bridge – only it was sinking. Soon they were going to burn and vanish when the boiler engulfs everything in flames.

But that was the least of her concerns. Hungary hauled the Romanian up the shore. He would want her to fetch Turkey, Moldova and Bulgaria in any way. "So I do have to take care of everything," she said, rolling up her sleeves.

She plunged into the water once more. This time she swam faster. She was careful not to collide with sharp wreckage and burning metal. Her eyes stung from whatever chemicals the water had but she persisted, ignoring the stings. She located the sunken wagon where she had left Turkey, Moldova and Bulgaria. It was already submerged with only the corners of the roof peeking over the surface.

When she resurfaced for air, in the corner of her eye a figure stirred. Romania was awake and bolting for the wagons. "Find them! Find them!" He cried, flailing his arms wildly.

 _He was alright._ Hungary exhaled in relief. The Romanian leaped on the nearest sinking wagon roof, then dodged flaming debris. "Hungary, find them! Help me find them! Hurry!"

A tall figure crossed his path carrying a rod – the same one Hungary had tossed aside. The man was the tallest one of Bulgaria's goons and with a metal rod to replace a bone spear, he would be damaging. Hungary was about to swim over help Romania but he stopped her. "Just go find them!  _Forget about me!_ "

She gritted her teeth and nodded. Ignoring sore muscles from her earlier endeavours, she reentered the sunken wagon, running out of breath and aching. She quickly stole another gulp of air before diving down deeper.

She had always felt so calm immersed underwater, and it was always like flying in mid-air when floating. There was a lot to take in; water particles dancing in her vision, the light rays hitting just beneath the surface, and bubbles caressing the skin. Mesmerized by the deathly grip, Hungary almost forgot if she was drowning or dreaming. The moment her eyes caught sight of the sinking  _Okey_  tiles, her head snapped back to reality.

The wagon was empty.

She swam for the opening only to be greeted by the sight of flames erupting on the engine car as the boiler was devoured by water. Romania and the goon were no where to be seen. She panicked.

A gunshot was fired.

Hungary gasped. The tall thug appeared with the rod. He bounded away from where Romania was and jumped over her. Crossing the wagon roofs, he headed for the other side by the last wagon car.

The black smoke fogged up her view.

Another shot was fired. A couple more shadowy figures appeared and headed for the same shoreline, called up like dogs to a piece of meat.

"Turkey?" she cried out, shakily.  _Take care of Turkey and everything else_ , he said. "Turkey – ? TURKEY? SADIK? WHERE ARE YOU?" She didn't care if she was yelling out his Nation name. "TURKEY?"

"Hungary!" The voice was coming from the other side of the sinking car. She swam under again, and popped her head on the other side of the roof. Turkey was hanging on to a floating corner of another wagon. He was waving a hand to her. "It's Mo! He's got Moldova! Bulgaria's got Moldova!"

Another deafening explosion erupted from the engine car.

Hungary had an arm around Turkey by then and they were already halfway to shore by the blazing engine car. Hungary avoided the fires and the other side – the goons had flocked to that end with the last wagon.

Turkey managed to paddle up the shore on his own half way through when Hungary stopped and searched for Romania again, this time he was visible to her through the smoke. They were all coughing.

The Romanian was pacing on the roof of one of the sinking wagons; he was trying to look past the blackness of the flames. Then all of a sudden, he stopped. He did not appear to be bruised or bleeding from the encounter with the armed tall man. Nevertheless, he sickeningly coughed out smoke before shouting, "Moldova! Bulgaria!"

There was movement across the river.

Where the engine exploded, the water was boiling warmer. Hungary predicted there was going to be another explosion. Her skin was beginning to fry. She hurried back to their side of the river with little choice. Turkey was standing up but his knees were bending like they were about to break. He was squinting across the river also, searching.

"MOLDOVA! BULGARIA!" cried the Romanian again.

A man screamed on the other end. A few more gunshots fired.  _Six_ , Hungary counted. But there was still a man screaming in the distance.  _Who was getting shot?_

Her legs numbed with exhaustion, Hungary could barely stand straight, but with every muscle and bone left in her body she clambered out of the river and fell to a crawl. Romania was running across the broken debris towards them in a state of dread.

Another explosion erupted from the engine. It was a lot larger and the Romanian would have burned his back had he not leapt into the water in time.

Their ears were ringing. There was the same scream of a man mixing with the sounds of everything else. There were no more gunshots.

Hungary quickly pulled Romania out. He was shaking under his warm coat; on his head a tuft of hair was slightly charred. She noticed a cut bleeding on his temple. He looked up at her for a moment with wide red eyes. Quickly shoving her away, he ran to the edge of the shore and stood there waiting…searching...

There was a silent chaos happening on the other side.

A sudden gust of wind cleared the smoke as if Nature wanted them all to see everything.

Bulgaria.

The Bulgarian Nation stood across the river with an arm around a familiar boy. Bulgaria had a pistol pointed to the skies in one hand, while his other hand was gently placed on Moldova's shoulder.

Hungary wondered if he had been raining bullets at the skies all along – her eyes caught no other bodies on the shore. She wondered if Bulgaria had rescued anymore of his crew. There were only four men circled around him, and one of them was the tall man with the rod – a dangerous survivor.

Across the distance Bulgaria looked like he was the smallest of his men, even with the empowering gun – the  _Draculae_ , Romania had called it. Hungary remembered there were two…

One of his men was squirming on the ground crying out in pain and holding his face. Hungary noted it wasn't just one man suffering from a critical burn. The rest of the survivors had a few bleeding cuts, but Bulgaria and Moldova looked unscarred. The men lost their spears and they were looking at their Bulgarian leader with severity and menace. The mistreatment was uncalled for.

Bulgaria aimed the pistol at Romania across the river. Beside him, Moldova held his little hat tightly, and his young eyes were large, confused and scared; by the looks of it he would permit Bulgaria to shoot anyone.

Hungary could only imagine what Romania was feeling right now.

"Somehow I had a feeling you were going to do something like this, Ro!" Bulgaria said loudly. Even through a crackling fire, a goon's cry, and the distance, they could hear him loud and clear. Words were the only thing that mattered now.

"Bul," Romania's voice cracked. "We're still friends! Just swim across! Please! Bring – bring the boy with you! Please! Or – I'll make a bridge! I'll go to you! Hold on!" Romania started pacing along the river's edge, his gaze never leaving the other side.

Bulgaria did not move, for what felt like an eternity. By his feet, the crying goon screamed louder in pain; his face was blistering, enflamed from the explosion.

Expressionless, Bulgaria suddenly shifted the pistol's aim from Romania to the man beneath him. The pistol fired, quieting the scene.

Blood splattered.

Moldova gasped.

His men shifted around in shock. Their comrade was murdered by their trusted leader before their very eyes and it was something that triggered their nerves.

"You shot him…" Hungary heard the tall man say.

Moldova looked up at Bulgaria who was looking around in mild panic, completely aware of the people closing in on him. There were three of them surrounding him and the boy.

"DON'T YOU DARE MOVE!" Bulgaria commanded the leering goons. His one arm was still around Moldova protectively. Even from afar Hungary could tell the boy was quivering in horror.

Romania's knees were shaking. "Bul…" he murmured.

Bulgaria gave him a glance as if he heard that quiet whisper above everything else.

One of the goons growled. "You said you weren't gonna shoot any of us."

"I said, DON'T  _MOVE_!" snarled the Bulgarian, shifting Moldova behind him when he faced the goon with new ferocity, his pistol aimed. Behind him, one of the men stole a chance to sneak up on Moldova's blind spot. He grabbed the boy, and stole a second  _Draculae_  from Moldova's belt.

"Mister Zhivko!" the boy shrieked.

"MOLDOVA!" Romania cried out, bolting forward.

Bulgaria whirled around then aimed his pistol at the one who seized the boy.

Hungary ran up to restrain the Romanian from jumping into the water. It could swallow him up and fry him, and the burning engine nearby was a scorching tank. There was still a portion of the railroad clinging over the surface, but it was barely halfway across the river and it was like a tree branch waiting to break.

The man held the pistol to Moldova's head, snickering threateningly at Bulgaria. "You shoot, I shoot," threatened the man. "I couldn't care less 'bout this kid. You're all a buncha loonies, calling out country names. Zhivko, you promised us all to live, but yer' killing us one by one for yer friends over there, 'nd I don't like it."

Bulgaria moved toward him with a gun to the man's cranium. "Don't touch him," Bulgaria growled, his arm was shaking. He was disregarding the other thugs closing in on him from behind.

The man holding Moldova quivered. "Ey! I know what it's like to have a kid!" grieved the man. "You promised us all, Zhivko! You promised us! We want this safe zone together, but yer choosin'  _those_  guys now – ? "

"Don't worry!" Moldova wept. "Forget about me! This man's pistol is empty! I'd emptied the barrel earlier because I didn't want to shoot anybody! Mister Anan showed me how – "

The man raised the pistol over the boy's head to club him, hissing, "You little –"

"Whah!" Moldova fumbled for his knife.

Bulgaria sent a bullet to the man's head immediately, but the head turned away so fast he wasn't sure if the goon was hit square on the skull. The man's heavy arms still clutched on to Moldova's shoulders, and the moment he crashed into the water he dragged Moldova with him.

The two disappeared into the depths.

"Moldova!" Bulgaria faltered.

"NO!" Romania freed himself from Hungary's grasp. He ran across the burning water and stepped on to the broken railroad, only to stand paralyzed on the very end of it. It was weak and not enough to bridge the gap in between.

Red suddenly stained the water.

A tiny hat floated to the surface and it perched close by the Bulgarian Nation.

"Mo…" Bulgaria gulped.

The tall man was behind him.

He didn't notice.

It happened in a flash.

Hungary screamed, "BULGARIA!"

A metal rod tore through his torso. His face paled but his eyes never left Moldova's hat.

"Bul – " Romania sounded like air left his lungs and it was choking him. The railroad shook under his boots and he had to drop to his knees to stay on. From across the water he could only stare at the rod protruding through his old friend's heart.

Bulgaria had been distracted, and it was the only moment the tall man needed to slide the metal rod through the Nation's back.

Bulgaria's whole body stiffened. Blood poured from his mouth and the pistol shook in his hand. He raised the gun to the tall man and fired.

The gun clicked.

The sound of emptiness.

He had no more bullets left. The gun fell into the water, and Bulgaria was smiling contentedly. He had intended the gun to run out of bullets.

The tall man sneered. "Any last words,  _'Master'_?"

Bulgaria turned his head to where Romania, Hungary and Turkey stood. He was swaying, dizzied from the blood loss, but he made a gurgling noise that was supposed to be a chuckle.

Hungary's lips trembled; a blame was stabbing her inside. She had that rod earlier, and if she hadn't thrown it away…

" _Nu_ …No, no, no…" Romania was weeping.

Hungary averted her eyes from him. She covered her mouth and tried to remain composed. Her eyes met Turkey's, or so she thought she met his eyes. Turkey's dark pupils were empty voids under the mask, and they were reaching out for Bulgaria.

The Bulgarian Nation lifted a hand to them. It was a reach for them or a wave, Hungary didn't know, she could barely see through the blur in her eyes. Finally there was the lasting cry that resounded from the other side.

"Funny how life plays, Ro!"

And with that, the tall man yanked the metal rod clean out of Bulgaria's chest before letting him fall. Bulgaria's body crashed into the water, face first into his own blood.

Hungary could not even read the Romanian on the edge of the broken railroad. His body was a cold statue.

There were only two ruffians left, the one with a bloody rod and the other unarmed but no less threatening. When they turned and disappeared elsewhere, they had not only abandoned souls in water and fire, but they had left behind three Nation-beings across the river in mourning.

Hungary watched the men vanish. The train was gone, buried in the deep. She could see the paleness of the wagon rooftops just coloring the surface. The fires and the smoke were slowly dying as the engine finally calmed down in the riverbed. The murky liquid looked angry and tainted with bodies and blood.

There was a sting in her eyes when she saw the little ribboned hat by the river bank, muddied from its ordeal. She swallowed hard and turned away, unable to retrieve it.

The Romanian started back to shore languidly, as if he was gradually thawing from a frozen state. He was murmuring something, almost in a trance. His head was bent low, and his hair was shielding his eyes in shadow.  _"Cu bine, pe veci, fratele meu drag…cu bine, pe veci, prientenul meu…"_

Turkey remained where he stood, squinting at the distance. "I don't see Moldova…" he muttered with a tone so casual it surprised them. He sounded delusional again, like the first time they'd found him.

Romania would not even raise his head to acknowledge that. He was facing the forest beyond, his back to the death across the river.

"Mo…Moldova!" Turkey called, smiling faintly at whatever it was he was looking at. "Did ye know Bulgaria called him Stefan?" he said to no one in particular. "He answered to Stefan. Bulgaria didn't tell him a lot about his past. I had a long talk with the kid, y'know? I got to know him a little bit..." Turkey took off his mask and rubbed his eyes. "I even asked him if I can call him by his country's name. 'Said he didn't mind 'cause Bulgaria calls him that from time to time too…I think Mo's okay…yeah…"

It hurt Hungary to hear, and to think just a couple of hours ago the old Nation was playing a tile game with the boy. She glanced at Romania who remained as still as stone.

Still feeling that the metal rod was her own doing, Hungary distanced herself from the Romanian and approached the Turk. "Turkey…?"

"Stefan! Over here!" Turkey belted, waving both arms around. Hungary followed his gaze only to find nothing but the river and the little hat. "Mo! Over – "

" _STOP IT!_ " Romania shouted, as loud as when he was crying out the lost names. "I lost him twice already! I don't need this again!" He turned away and marched into the forest leaving them behind.

Hungary pulled the Turk's sleeve. "Turkey," her voice was quivering, "that's enough. Let's go..."

"But…Moldova…" He had worn that same look for Cyprus' name. Hungary let go of his sleeve. She turned to where Romania disappeared, and with a long shaky breath, she looked for him. She found the Nation marching noisily forward, and it was the first time she noticed him walk a different stride – a stride of defeat.

Hungary caught up with him and placed a gentle hand on his shoulder. "Alex?"

He flinched away from her touch immediately. "NO!" he raged. "Stop right there! And don't – just don't." He pulled something out of his pocket. At first it was his hat, wrinkled and soaked, but he quickly shoved it back inside and pulled out something else.

A bottle cap.

"Here! Take it!" He carelessly threw it on the dust. "It's the bottle cap of some German beer bottle Bulgaria gave me! YEAH! THAT'S IT! That's what HE held back from you because he wanted ME to TELL YOU!" His tone sounded like shattering glass. "There was a message in that stupid beer bottle! I read the message, okay? It said Prussia's looking for you and Austria's with him! Your beloved Austrian is waiting for you!"

Hungary regarded him incredulously, and when she made a move towards him he grabbed her shoulders to stop her. "I said they are ALIVE okay?" he said painfully, his eyes were glazed and pleading, "You just have to believe me!"

Hungary looked down at the bottle cap on the ground.

"You know what?" Romania released his grip on her. "I tore apart the message because I really cared before. I'd hoped you and Turkey would help me, but – but now I just…I just don't give a fucking damn about anything…

"Now that you know your  _two husbands_  are alive you can leave me alone. Just – just go. I don't care! I shouldn't have gone looking for anyone! I should've just – I wish I'd – " He stopped himself. Hungary noticed a glinting tear roll down his cheek. Another one of many she had witness moments ago.

"If you weren't out here," she spoke softly, "those men would've taken over. They would'vekilled your patrol..."

Romania turned his back on her, but she caught a glimpse of his eyes filling with more tears. He was falling apart, and he was ready to leave them all behind.

"If you weren't out here searching," Hungary trembled, "Turkey would've been left for dead."  _And so would I,_ she admitted silently.

"Yeah? Well, now they know there's a way here," Romania retorted. "And all they need is a bridge or a way around.

"Just leave me alone." He tried clearing his throat. "I've answered all your questions and –" he did not even cover up the sob leaving his throat – "and I just want to go home now…" He took a couple of steps forward before his legs failed him. His knees hit the dust and his shoulders fell, completely defeated. His head went limp and one of his gloved hands pressed against his face.

Hungary did not move. Romania did not sound like he was crying anymore. Perhaps he was trying to hide it or maybe he was purely drained.

That was it.

She was free of him. Plans had failed. Their supplies were gone, their defenses were destroyed, and their transportation was lost.

Now she knew there were two other Nations she can turn to. Surely she had no more questions for Romania. He did answer everything. He told her everything. Everything from Prussia and Austria, to the caves, Hungarians, trains, and boats…everything.

He was drained. Defeated.

Hungary felt like she had won something…but there was nothing to celebrate at all. She did not feel victorious, only guilty, and depressed. Romania had gotten her this far and now she could easily walk away from him in a blink. She did hate him.

But…

There was something that made her remain where she was. She wondered if it was because of the Nation silently weeping in front of her…the childhood memory all over again.

"I had asked this young man a question once," she said vacantly. "I asked why the world was not flat." Romania did not look up. Hungary picked up the German bottle cap from the ground and a smile faintly painted her face. "He told me the world is not flat or else there will be an end to it. He said, the world is round and an endless spin that if you'd ever get lost along the way, you'd reappear on the other side.

"For example…two people were lost on the other side today. They were very dear to this man…and if the world was flat they'd have fallen off the edge." Hungary choked back a lump in her throat and tightly closed her fingers around the bottle cap. Romania lifted his head, his back was still to her, and yet she continued. "The journey ends and they will never find what they're looking for.

"Forever lost he'd said. But then he told me, the world was made round because this way, we keep on turning. Those lost in the horizon will reappear on the other side…This man thought he's lost them over the edge, when really…they just went off to a different direction. Eventually they will reappear again to see him. He on the other hand...he told me that no matter what direction he takes – "

"He will keep going," the Romanian finished for her. He was staring out into the forest of charred trees to a path ahead. There were mountains beyond those trees and there were caves within them. Hungary didn't realize they were already facing Cluj. Suddenly Romania was laughing. "Don't tell anyone about this, Magyar. The comfort was torturously cheesy coming from you."

"Obviously, you jerk," a gracious smirk played on her lips. "I figured you needed to be reminded that's all." With a satisfied nod, she pocketed the bottle cap and turned to the opposite direction to find Turkey – he was still lingering at the banks of the dreadful river.

She did not look back, but she wondered if Romania finally turned around for her, or maybe he moved on and truly left them. She even wondered if Romania expected her or Turkey to follow him like before. Then again, their anger hadn't truly dissipated between them. She was angry at why he did not tell her about Prussia and Austria sooner. She was angry at why he did not turn around when she was talking to him. She was angry that he did not specify where his damn boats were. She was angry at him for a lot of things.  _There was always something to be angry about with Romania, right?_  She exhaled. Now was not the time to go back to square one.

Romania had dismissed them after what happened with Bulgaria and Moldova, and they could choose what to do the rest of the way on their own. Trust no longer mattered, it seemed. Trust had led them this far and they had lost Bulgaria and Moldova with it.

Hungary could head for Austria. Finally. But did she really want to now after all that had happened? Surely. Though, she was not sure what to do or where to begin. Perhaps Turkey could help her. She found him with his hands on his hips, still looking out across the river.

Hungary creased her brows. "Turkey, that's enough!" She did not hide her irritation. "Stop staring back there!"

"Hmm…?" He turned to her with unusual energy. "Oh." His smile was there but it made Hungary even more irritated.  _How could he be smiling at a time like this?_

"You're being delusional," she said blatantly. At least he was standing on his own two feet. She thought he had broken his leg again but it seemed like Moldova had done something to fix him. "Turkey,I'm planning to leave," she started, her heart set on Austria. The needle and the bottle cap were prompting her, and so was the flower on her head reminding her.

"Hungary before you say anythin' anymore…"

"Turkey…"

The older Nation pointed across the river again. "Tell me ye see no little hat."

Hungary followed his gaze. There was no hat. Moldova's hat had probably drifted away in a current. "There is no little hat," she pointed out quietly.

The Turk nodded, and then he traced an invisible horizon line in the air. His finger followed the river bank in the distance. "Now, tell me I'm not the only one who can see the footprints 'round the bend."

Hungary gaped at what he proclaimed, but when her sight followed where he was looking at, the doubtful hard line of her mouth loosened until her jaw dropped.

Across the river, there was the grey soil of the banks stained with blood and water, imprinted by heavy boot prints from the earlier commotion of men. But from the very spot of where the small hat had been, from the distance Hungary could scarcely make out the small footprints that looked like they stepped right out of the water. They were faintly heading east, and sure enough they were made by a boy's little muddied shoes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "...she made her way through the familiar hallways of the grand building where the last world meeting was held." ( Reference to Retrace: Pavements. )
> 
> "The last thing he told me was that he wasn't afraid of the dragons in the forest." ( Ro had said that line to Nadia in Chapter 1. "Nu te teme de zmei…" Which means, 'Don't be afraid of dragons in the forest'. Forests are pretty symbolic in this fic I realize.)
> 
> "Funny how life plays, Ro!" (Bulgaria had said the same line when they first met in Chapter 7)
> 
> "Cu bine, pe veci, fratele meu drag…cu bine, pe veci, prientenul meu…" (Romanian for: "Farewell forever my dear brother...farewell forever my friend...") Thanks for the translation Darky! ;) (DarkShadowRaven)
> 
> "I asked why the world was not flat." (Romania wanted Hungary to ask him why the world is not flat in Chapter 7 )
> 
> ***There are too many parallels, and I don't want to list them.
> 
> ***This chapter was the longest chapter ever. It's over nine-thousand!


	15. Mirrors

"Jan, what the fuck are you doing?" Denmark uttered.

"Stop talking," was Netherlands' reply.

The trees were preventing the Dutch Nation from noticing the company behind the woods. Switzerland had the urge to bolt out of the trees, enter the schoolyard, and stop Netherlands from whatever he was doing. He wanted to rescue the Nations before him – Denmark, Sealand and most importantly, Netherlands and Belgium. She had to reunite with her brother one way or another. But not like this. They did not expect this.

The Alpine glanced at Belgium. She was watching the whole commotion, tied up and powerless. Her mouth was taped and her hair was pulled back by a brute restraining her. After being punched in the stomach, she looked so worn and pained.

Switzerland wanted to free her, but so many men were in the way, and he could not take them down alone with a single Swiss knife. He was still healing from his recent injuries, and any close combat would probably not end well.

Belgium had made some acquaintances with a handful of these men, but how could they be trusted? Switzerland wasn't sure.

He swallowed hard and simply watched the story turn chaotic before their very eyes.

Netherlands was holding Sealand hostage, a hand over the boy's mouth, and his other holding a pistol squarely aimed at Denmark's skull. Dragging the boy with him, Netherlands forced them to the center of the schoolyard by the old merry-go-round.

The men behind the trees stirred, waiting for command. Switzerland inhaled and Belgium stifled a sob. The meeting was set.

"Hold still and don't say anything," the Dutch commanded the Dane emotionlessly. "If you try anything, I'll kill you both." When Denmark protested, Netherlands sent the butt of his pistol flying to the Nation's face. For added measure, Netherlands kicked Denmark's back until he landed face first into the ash. Sealand's scream was muffled.

Netherlands let out a loud echoing whistle before getting Denmark up on his feet with a nudge of his boot.

The whistle was a signal for the stringy man to move. He glanced back to his crew with a disgusting sneer; Switzerland would have shot him then if he'd had a rifle. He noticed the men around him shifted about and prepared for presentation. Besides those who Belgium befriended, Switzerland was unfamiliar with a dozen of them because they had just joined them this morning. Belgium's potential allies were outgunned and outnumbered.

The man who was holding ropes distributed a chord to each member. Switzerland was about to receive his own rope when the leader stopped him with a menacing glare. Under their leader's command, Switzerland was given nothing. When he returned the leader's glare, he suddenly knew that he was going to be killed soon after Belgium's reunion. Switzerland's lip twitched. He wondered if this man knew how to kill Nation-beings.

"I told you I'm gonna kill him after his service," the leader reminded his comrades.

Another whistle from Netherlands was heard.

Denmark was on his feet, and Sealand was shaking in the crook of the Dutch man's arm.

The stringy man revealed himself first. Switzerland noticed the Dutch Nation searching over the man's shoulder for his sister – he could not see her yet through the crowding men.

Switzerland snuck behind the captors who were holding her. There were silent protests behind him, but he figured he imagined them.

Belgium caught his eyes with concern. He was ready to pull out his knife and cut her ropes when she averted her eyes from him. Switzerland regarded her for a moment. She was shaking her head and pointing at something with her eyes. She was looking at the familiar faces of the men they had spent the night with.

He could recall the man who carried Belgium, and the couple of drivers and three others who had camped with them. They were glancing at him worriedly, and he gave them a questioning look in return.  _What did they want?_  he thought.  _Did Belgium tell them something?_

Before Switzerland could utter a word, the Belgian Nation was taken away from him.

"I didn't think you'd do it," voiced the stringy leader. Switzerland could not see him from the height of the men crowding around. He was still in the cover of the woods while the armed men were already out of the trees all revealed for Netherlands to see, except Belgium. She was yet to be presented.

Switzerland scampered along the line to reveal himself too, but a hand grabbed his shoulder and pulled him further back into the forest. He was knocked backwards, hitting the dirt.

Air left his lungs as he almost choked in the man's hold. A side of his face was pressed to the ground, his arms were pinned back – whoever was restraining him securely was really good. Switzerland writhed, trying to look up. He saw the familiar askew nose of the man who had given him the bottle of 'Meds' last night.

"Don't move," hissed the nosy man, holding the Alpine down. "Yer gonna get everyone killed and I need you to calm down. She told us you can't get involved."

Switzerland scowled.  _What do you mean I can't get involved?_  He clenched his teeth.  _I sure as hell have to get involved!_  Keeping his mouth shut, he tried reaching for the Swiss knife but to no avail. He saw one of the men glance at them for a moment then turn away – that man was the stocky fellow who had carried Belgium. Whatever their plans were, Switzerland was in the dark. It unsettled him that he could not see what was happening on the other side. He continued struggling to free himself.  _I want to get involved, damn it!_

Switzerland could hear Netherlands say, "Shut up. Let me see her or I'm keeping them for myself."

Men shifted around again and he lost sight of Belgium. Switzerland felt panic rising in him. He stopped struggling and strained his ears to listen.

"Belgium…?" From the sound of Netherlands' voice, he was relieved. "Bel? Bel? Are you okay?"

There was shifting.

Switzerland's eyes nervously searched through the gaps in the men, he could barely comprehend what was going on – they were really torturing him with the blockade. I want to see her, his heart cried.  _I want to see them!_

"She's fine." That was the stringy man talking. "Maybe a little worn out but we didn't hurt her so badly. Now let us have them."

Switzerland's gasp was cut off from the nosy man's hand immediately covering his mouth.  _There was a trade going on?!_   _Belgium_ _was being traded?! What was Netherlands doing?!_

He could hear Denmark start. "You unbelievable son of a bitch…you're  _trading_  us?"

"I told you to stop talking." That sounded like Netherlands. There was a scuffle. Sealand's whimpering. More men shifting around. Switzerland caught a glimpse of Sealand being tossed to one of the men.

"He's the only one we really wanted alive," he heard the stringy leader say. "Kill him." There was a pause. "And you can have your sister back."

 _Kill him?_  The leader wanted a man killed but… _Who did that bastard mean?_ Switzerland writhed to see, but the nosy man's hold on him grew heavier, or perhaps that was his own bones feeling so grave. Another one of the men took a moment to glance at him, and then returned their attention back to the scene.

"That wasn't part of the deal." Netherlands spoke.

"It is now," said that bastard leader.

More shuffling was heard. Switzerland's breathing quickened. His mind was racing. He could hardly imagine what Belgium was seeing right now.

"Denmark!" That was Sealand. "Let him go! Denmark!"

A struggle. "Don't fucking do this," swore the Danish Nation. "What are you doing?"

"I told you to shut up." Netherlands again.

 _Netherlands_ _, what's going on?_ Switzerland's teeth clenched as he tried wriggling free again. He needed to see this. He had to protect Belgium –

"No! What the fuck is this?" Denmark was panicking.

Switzerland's heart skipped a beat from the sound of a shove and a gun click.

"Stop talking, Den. Don't even try to tell me you wouldn't do the same if it was Norway or any of the rest of them." Netherlands.  _Damn it! I can't see them!_

"We could have helped you get her back. We could have – "

Something sounded like metal crashing against bone, and then there was a pounding thud of human body hitting dirt. Sealand was screaming Denmark's name over and over. The men blinding everything from Switzerland suddenly burst out laughing.

Switzerland could feel his chest heaving, adrenaline rushing through his system. He lifted himself up one more time, only to be held down by another man, hastily throwing whispers to the other restraining him. "He really wants to help." "She said to keep him alive." "He wants to take part in this." "He's not getting involved!"

Over the men's voices Switzerland could still hear Netherlands talk. "If you're really my friend, you'll let me do this. For her sake. Not mine."

Another click of a gun.

Switzerland could no longer take it. He was not going to relax, pinned to the ground while someone was about to get shot. He lifted his head and twisted his body to turn himself over.

"Get off me – " Switzerland grumbled. He didn't care if these men had their own plans of escaping. He didn't care if Belgium had told them to exclude him from this fight. He wanted to protect her. He could handle the men with a single knife.

It was a gamble.

He could do it.

He would try.

A fist rammed the bone above his brow.

His mind flooded with dizzying shapes and black splotches. There was a sting pulsing on his head, around the region of his temple, where the heavy knuckles coldly punched him.

The last he heard were Netherlands' words.

"Family comes first, Denmark. It always has…"

Then darkness consumed him.

For only a moment.

His eyelids were heavy, but he forced himself to open them. His pounding forehead was slicked with sweat. Fingering his brow, he suddenly remembered what was happening.

There was complete, utter silence.

The man who had restrained him had vanished. When he sat up, he noticed he was in another world, sitting in a forest of red hues and versicoloured foliage. Tall trees flourished in sunset colours reminding him of autumn, their trunks blushing red. The leaves made rustling melodies along with an ominous breeze that made them fall. Switzerland panicked.  _A dream?! I'm – I can't be! No! NO! Not now! Where are the men? Where's Belgium?_

 _"Brother?"_  Her voice. His little sister's voice.

Switzerland's hands flung to his head, his fingers curling, his mouth clenching, his eyes wrinkling shut.  _No, no, no._  He was going mad again. This madness was getting worse! He thought it was over!  _Not again, Lili –_

_"Big brother…?"_

Liechtenstein's voice was only a few steps in front of him now, but he was not going to open his eyes to look. He didn't want to. He wanted to leave this void.

_"Watch out!"_

This void of despair.

_"Don't – !"_

A gunshot.

_"Brother, please!"_

Another bullet flew, making his heart squirm and his eyes water.

Switzerland screamed, trying to rid himself of the dream. For a moment, it smelled of sweet grass and soil, and then a familiar stench oozed out of the ground, reminding him of blood and metal. He was shaking all over for what felt like an hour while the ghostly voice gently called his name. Presently, the voice faded, and the sound of the falling leaves turned to scuffling. He dared not open his eyes yet. His brow stung – a painful reminder of the fist that had plunged him to a cold darkness.

There was movement around him.

Switzerland could hear boots and murmuring.

His eyes flew open to the sound. There was a mumbling of words past the trees, and he could barely make out who was talking. There was a heavy stillness – almost like a pause in the air. He blinked at the usual charred trees and grey skies, before propping himself up and wincing from the bruise on his forehead. The world was spinning…

Quietly.

Switzerland jumped at the silence, suddenly recalling the crisis at hand. There were figures through the cover of trees, but what concerned him was the lack of men nearby. He had been restrained just a moment ago –  _had it been just a moment ago?_ he thought.

He strained his eyes for the schoolyard past the tree line. He could finally see what was happening without people barricading his view.  _Where is everyone?_  His breath quickened as he slowly made his way for the schoolyard.

He almost walked by a person lying on the ground.

A yellow-toothed man was on his back grinning up at the sky; blood was oozing out of the several cuts on his chest and throat. There was a trail of blood that led to the open yard– the body had been dragged from here into the shadow of the trees. Giving Switzerland a final sneer was the stringy leader's corpse with vacant eyes.

"Dear brother…" whispered a familiar sweet voice.

The Alpine searched for the source, taking some cautious steps out of the trees. Suddenly, he wished he didn't move forward to see.

The group of men had killed each other, and blood was everywhere.

Among the handful of bodies and broken farm equipment were familiar faces, from the nosy man who had restrained him, to the man who had carried Belgium with gentle hands. Switzerland's heavy heart told him he had missed a crucial battle that happened while he was unconscious.

"I want to tell you a story…"

Kneeling on the ground with her back turned to him was the Belgian Nation, preoccupied in a trance of words. She looked completely vulnerable, unaware of his approach. There was a blotch of red between her left shoulder and spine, a dark circular hole pumping the red on her shirt.

"…it's about a young man who searched for his sister," she spoke softly, "…and he found me…"

Switzerland moved towards her to say something, but when he saw who she held in her arms, he turned pale and dead silent.

"We flew a plane together…" she said. "I can still fly planes so well, you should've seen me. I flew us this far and I'd beat up some baddies along the way." She giggled.

In her arms was Netherlands, quiet and still, eyes closed and peaceful, blood seeping through his heavy coat, mouth partly open. There were a few strips of cloth hurriedly wrapped around him, like Belgium had attempted to stop the bleeding, but it hadn't worked. The Dutch man's chest rose and fell slower and slower. Red coated his shirt with every agonizing breath.

"We also had a picnic," the Belgian soothed, continuing her story as if it would ease the pain. "I had salvaged some wine and granola bars. I even found good cheese here."

Switzerland stood frozen in place. He no longer wanted to approach the two siblings. He did not want to disturb them. He did not want to disturb them at all. But he cared about Belgium. He wanted to help them, to heal them, and yet he stood their paralyzed. He had medicine in his pocket…

"Ned, we believe Prussia's alive. There was graffiti all over the walls, and a plane had followed us. I think it was Prussia, Ned...isn't that great?"

Switzerland's lips trembled. Belgium was badly wounded and he wanted to help her. He wanted to tell her about Prussia. He wanted to tell her everything was going to be okay. As much as he wanted to heal her, and heal them, his damn body was motionless.

"He's very kind under the stoic façade, like you…" she said. "From the very beginning he lost his sister, he never gave up. He kept going, and he helped me…"

Switzerland fists clenched and his eyes blurred. In the back of his mind Prussia's words were telling him they were flying as soon as possible. Prussia was waiting for them. All of them: Belgium, Netherlands and he. There was promised a meeting this afternoon! It was almost time. They were going to leave together. All of them. He promised –

Belgium's words broke to a quaking sob suddenly. "Stay with me brother," she whimpered. "I have a lot more to tell you! My story isn't finished!"

 _This was all just another dream,_ Switzerland trembled, and yet he couldn't bear the reality of the tear rolling down his face.

There was medicine in his pocket but he was just watching them bleed to death. He couldn't bear to approach them. He was a well-trained doctor in the past but at this point, his mind was suddenly a complete void – reluctance and despair tainted his sanity. A void. A void. A void…

"I said I'm not finished!" Belgium's cry was heartbreaking. She cradled Netherlands closer, ignoring the blood smearing her cheeks. "Stay awake Ned, please?" she cried. "Stay with me please!"

Silence answered.

Belgium wept.

Switzerland held up his wrist that was wrapped in a purple velvet ribbon. He choked on the lump in his throat. He should have been here. He should have helped. He would have fought off the men along her side, if only he hadn't been restrained. Why was he held back in the first place?

Belgium finally quieted down and he called her name in a gentle murmur.

Whirling around, she leapt to her feet screaming, eyes wild and hair tangled. She was holding a pistol with both hands, and was aiming it to the source of the call.

"Bel! It's me!" Switzerland looked at her gravely, his hands flew up. "Friendly fire," he quaked, "I beg you…" She had said those words to him weeks ago when they met.

Belgium's face relaxed, and she dropped the gun. Switzerland noticed it was empty.

"I can explain…" she said. She looked completely drained and miserable like she had snapped out of a painful dream. Her legs wobbled and Switzerland ran up to catch her before she collapsed. He noticed Belgium's wound was too close to where her heart was.

The damp blood on her blouse soaked his sleeve. He gently propped her up to sit beside her silent brother.

He frantically tore a piece of fabric from his shirt and pressed it to her bullet-holed chest. Her eyes were closing, and she let out a murmur, "I'll be fine, Vash…"

 _"Bitte nicht!"_  he said through gritted teeth, covering the wound with both hands. "You're shot!" The glow in her face that used to be so radiant and bright had faded. Pale and tired, her head fell limp on his shoulder.  _No._

 _No, no._  Switzerland shut his eyes and rested his forehead against hers. This closeness would have annoyed him any other time if it wasn't his sister he was leaning in to, but in this precious moment, Belgium was an exception. He tried to open his eyes again, but it became impossible to see clearly beyond brimming tears.  _"She told us you can't get involved," the man had said._

A soft gentle hand caressed his cheek. When he leaned to her touch, he felt the warmth in her hand fading, her breath hot against his.

"I didn't expect them to bring weapons," she whispered, choking on blood in her throat. "I just…I just thought I could handle it. I didn't want you involve, Vash...I'm sorry."

Switzerland tried to keep his composure. "I should've been here," he exclaimed, his voice wavering. "I should've been involved! You were wrong to exclude me. I thought we had everything under control. We could've helped each other out! I could've gotten you and Netherlands out! All of us could've escaped alive!" His tone rose in frustration. "I can't believe you would selfishly put yourself out here with strange men! You were alone! You put yourself out here alone, in harm's way just for – "

Belgium locked her gaze on him. Switzerland could clearly see himself in her green eyes.

His words just drifted out of his mouth in a quivering murmur. "You would put yourself out here…alone…and in harm's way just for your brother."  _Damn this. Damn this hell. I will heal her. We can still leave this place together. I will heal her. I can heal her. I will try. She has lost so much blood…_

"I know I didn't tell you everything," Belgium said, drawing away from him, a smile faintly appeared on her lips. "I thought you wouldn't mind the exclusion. You were always the one to not get involved in other people's business."

He disregarded that. Hell, he ignored that completely. His fingers continued to wipe the blood clean from the hole in her chest.

"Switzerland, don't try to heal me…"

"You're injured. I'll try to heal you. I can heal you. I will heal you." He would take her and Netherlands to Prussia. The plane was waiting for them. They would fly out of here. They could leave this place together.

"Stop."

"Bel –"

"Damn it, Vash!" She barely had the strength left to push his arms away, but she tried. "I'm going to be with Netherlands one way or another!"

He stopped.

Belgium coughed out more blood than before. "Last night I'd talked to the men," she confessed, "and they had warned me it was too risky to escape out alive from the deal. They told me that one of us was going to be killed no matter what. There was also a chance that they were going to kill my brother in some way…They were going to betray him. So I made my choice.

"What few allies I had fought with me and they dealt with each other. I just got a little bit over my head and got shot…that's all…"

"No! You and Netherlands –" he faltered.

"I'm sorry I can't help you anymore," Belgium said weakly. "I said I made my choice..."

"But Prussia's alive, Bel!"

"I know…" Her smile widened.

"I met him yesterday at the trades post."

"…"

"He told me he has his plane ready this afternoon. We can fly out of here. Let me heal you and we'll get going, okay? I can carry you."

Belgium's head slightly turned to where Netherlands lay.

Switzerland glanced at the body miserably. "Bel –"

"No." She said, and it felt like she'd hit him with a rock.

"What do you mean 'no'? You're giving up?" Switzerland's tone was tinged with irritation on top of panic. He fished around his pockets for the bottle of 'Meds' he'd received last night.

 _They are Nation-beings! They still have a couple of days, right? They have time left. She can be healed,_  he thought.  _She just needs some help._  He showed the bottle to her as a second attempt to heal her. Just as he was about to open the lid, Belgium gently placed her hand on top of his to stop him.

By coincidence, it was his hand that had Liechtenstein's ribbon. Switzerland let Belgium's hand linger on his own, and felt like a long time passed between them. It was a silent exchange he would never forget.

"I'm not giving up," she said tiredly, "I just want to stay with my brother. I hope you understand."

He looked at her pleadingly. "Bel, don't –"

"I'm telling you to move on without me, Vash. Do I have to repeat myself?"

Switzerland didn't know how to bear this. Again. It was really, truly happening all over again.  _A repeat._  He looked up at the sky. His watery vision had gone so blurry it was blinding. Tears trickled down his cheeks endlessly.

He hadn't noticed the skies had turned dark. He'd figured it was Belgium's cold hand that was chilling, but it was actually a new breeze that had settled in the whole place. He was drowning in this cold feeling, like being buried beneath chilling decay.

He bit his lip. A droplet landed on his tear-stained face. It melted in his cheek, and then suddenly stung. It was a familiar searing pain that could only mean one thing. "Damn this acid rain," he cried. Wiping his face, he quickly leapt to his feet and grabbed Netherlands' body.

Belgium's hair fell on her face, and she remained sitting still as Switzerland dragged her brother to the open hatch of the underground bunker where the Dutch Nation had come from earlier with Denmark. Whatever happened to the Dane and Sealand, he didn't know. He cared too much for Belgium and Netherlands' reunion. The two Nordics' whereabouts was shelved in the back of his mind.

Switzerland hurriedly carried Netherlands' body down into the underground bunker. It was complete with a shelf for food and a ratty mattress for a bed.  _This must've been Netherlands' hideout, a place he'd shared with those two Nordics,_  Switzerland figured. He placed Netherlands on the mattress and arranged the man into a sleeping pose. Blood was everywhere, but that couldn't be helped now.

He quickly climbed back out to the schoolyard and found Belgium lying on her side. The acid rain was drizzling and about to rain in earnest, preparing to cleanse the schoolyard of all the bloodshed. Switzerland ran to her and carried the nation into the underground shelter. He placed her sitting by her brother on the mattress. As she lay there, her hand found her brother's, and her fingers interlaced with it.

Switzerland had not closed the bunker's hatch yet, in fact, he currently turned away to do so.

"You are not staying with us," Belgium said dully.

He stopped dead in his tracks, facing the ladder.

"Switzerland…your story's not over." Her words made his shoulders feel so heavy.

He didn't want to look at her. He didn't want to witness the dead light in her eyes. He didn't want to see her fade away… _Damn this._

Her voice grew fainter and quieter as she said, "Promise me you keep going?"

Switzerland's hand balled to a fist, ready to punch something. The singly drop of acid had drained him of any tears. Rather than bruising his knuckles, his fingers wrapped around the handles of the ladder.

He no longer cared about reestablishing his country. He had cared about the reunion, but not like this. It felt colder in here than outside.

"As you wish." That was all he could manage to say. What else was left?

He could hear the rain above him drumming the metal hatch. A few drops strayed from their downwards trajectory and landed on his face. He could feel tiny little stings pricking his skin from the acidic touch, but that didn't hurt as much as the silence that suddenly grew so heavy in the bunker.

A moment passed and he thought Belgium was going to say something else, but there was no longer a breath to be heard but his own. Switzerland gripped the ladder tightly. He did not know how he would feel again if he saw another set of hopeful green eyes closed and empty.

He did not realize his body had already driven him out of the bunker and into the stinging rain until he was already there. He closed the hatch and walked away from it. The one hand wrapped in velvet ribbon was cradled in his coat away from the rain.

His body hurt, and his skin complained, but he felt too numb to care. He could feel the rain triggering his fever again. In the past, his electrocution had also done the same thing. Then again, he couldn't care less about a fever right now.

He did wish he had a filtration mask to help his breathing.

He sneezed.  _Damn it._

Still, his body's condition was the least of his concerns. His own health hadn't mattered much to him ever since he'd left his country. He wondered when he would start caring about his body's complaints.

Switzerland had left behind the two siblings, the bunker, the schoolyard and the corpses. He did thank those men who had helped but he did not want to imagine how the final fight went down. He should stop thinking about it. Before Switzerland made it through the trees, without turning around, he whispered a quiet thanks to Belgium.

And then…he kept walking.

He had promised his own sister he would protect her. He'd promised to protect  _her_. He failed.

Again.

He just kept…walking.

His eyes stared at whatever came his way: dust, dirt, branch, rock, acid rain puddle, boulder, the tip of his boots. He was in a dream, continuing to simply keep walking.

He did not know how slow he was going, nor did he care. Daylight turned to night, and night turned to day. The change happened once so he figured a day had passed. When he finally blinked his eyes clearer, he recognized the trail he had retraced subconsciously.

A familiar truck was parked by the road across from a sign that said 'Trading Post'.  _Everything looked so familiar and unmoved_ , he thought. He headed for the truck; last time he was here was when the nosy man had given him medicine.

He fished out the bottle from his pocket and stared at it for a moment. He refrained from breaking it out of pure frustration.

Coughing, he looked at the truck thoughtfully. Although the vehicle hadn't moved from the spot, it had been ransacked. The crates had been opened and the contents had been stolen. _Everything's gone_ , Switzerland grimaced. All the supplies Belgium had traded with her cheese were now gone.

Switzerland felt his legs move forward and unsteadily take him to the trading post building.

It was a new morning with men and women flocking around booths, the same as when he and Belgium had first come in. But this time, he didn't participate in the bustling atmosphere. He remained outside the walls for the pure isolation. He had no guns, only a medicine bottle from a man who had helped them, a pocket knife from Netherlands, and a velvet ribbon from Liechtenstein and…what was it that Belgium had left behind for him? He'd never really received any material things from her did he? Besides clothes, maybe...

He wiped his face, only to wince from a stinging pain all over his cheeks and forehead.  _Damn that rain_ , he flinched. If it was meant to cleanse him, it was painful.

He sat leaning against the building's wall, unappreciated by the people passing around. Sitting there, he hadn't the faintest plan of what to do next. Prussia had left yesterday because he knew he had broken a promised meeting. Switzerland was supposed to show up, but it was far too late. Oh well…there was nothing left to do but remain here lying by the wall.

 _"Up above the young Rhine,"_  he murmured to himself,  _"Lies Liechtenstein, resting."_  His eyes closed heavily.  _"On Alpine heights…"_

The sun overhead reached the peak of day. Noon already. The sunlight would dwindle in a few hours. He could feel shadows move all around him; they either belonged to a person or wall.  _Friend or foe,_  he thought. They would eventually lengthen and swallow him up in another night.

His breathing slowed and he felt his whole body drift into sleep. He didn't realize how tired and feverish he'd gotten walking under the rain without stopping for sleep and food. Even thoughts of food felt foreign to his stomach.

Instead, all he thought about was the green-eyed Belgian pilot that flew above the wasteland, the feisty belle that entranced him with wine and cheese, the ray of sunshine that talked about the Brightside, and the sister that went through hell alone for her brother.

At least she was with Netherlands now…

Maybe Switzerland could join his own sister too. His country was gone, Liechtenstein was gone, Belgium was gone, Prussia had left, and Austria was alive but somewhere else. What next? Who else was there? Should he look for those Nordics? They ran away…he could try to find them, but his legs were tired. Forget them.  _They have each other._

Switzerland used to love the isolation, but why did it suddenly feel like the loneliness was eating him?

Even with eyes closed he could locate the Swiss knife in his pocket.

This loneliness was going to bury him in despair.  _I don't like this._

It was maddening.  _I can end this._

He would keep going, but alongside his sister.

 _Up above the young Rhine…_  He would like that.

 _Lies Liechtenstein, resting…_  His fingers tenderly felt the metal blades.

 _On Alpine heights…_   _I'm going to die here –_

"Hello? Someone in there?"

He was about to pull out the knife from his pocket when a familiar German-accented voice sounded beside him. A hand waved near his face, trying to catch his attention. Switzerland wrinkled his nose, blinking his eyes open.

"Earth to Switzy? Hello? What? No rifles?" the voice chuckled. _Prussia?_

 _Shouldn't he be flying to Austria by now?_ Switzerland wondered.

"I'm gonna trespass into your personal space! Here I go!" He felt Prussia leaning in to inspect him. "Wow! You must've taken a dunk in the rain last night. Your face is kinda…blistered. It's all dried up and a bit red, but it's not that bad! They look awesome, like sparkles." He laughed. "Don't worry! I got some cream to get rid of that stuff. You still look like you went through hell. What's with all the blood on your clothes – ?"

"Leave me alone," Switzerland groaned. Those three words were familiar to say, but the meanings had dissolved over time. Prussia grinned at him.

"Seriously?" the German laughed. "I waited for you a whole day to give you guys a ride and now you want me to leave? You know I could've! But I didn't! That's how awesome I am. So where were you guys anyway? And what took you so long? Where's – ?"

"We met up with Netherlands, but he was killed," Switzerland stated plainly, his tone low. "Denmark and Sealand were there too, but they ran off to God knows where. Belgium was wounded and she didn't want me to heal her. She told me to go on without her…she stayed with her brother."

"Oh..."

"And  _you_ were here idling around for two days with that stupid attitude and that stupid plane and you ask me, where  _I've_  been?"

Prussia was about to say something, but Switzerland faced him with outrage.

"Well, I have been through HELL!" yelled the Alpine. "And where were YOU?"

"Hey, I'm sorry. I didn't know – "

"NOW YOU DO!" Switzerland didn't care if his voice grew too loud. He didn't care if people stopped to listen. "We could've used your help! We could've escaped together! Why didn't you go looking for us, Pru – " Switzerland's mouth was immediately covered by Prussia's hand.

"Let's take this somewhere else," hissed the Prussian, his eyes narrowing. "You think you're the only one who went through hell?" Switzerland shoved the hand away, swearing under his breath.

The Prussian led him around the trading post's dilapidated building. Neither of them wanted to say anything to the other. Prussia was riled up from the Alpine's anger, while Switzerland was busy scowling and coughing. They walked around the corner of the building, quietly in their own little worlds.

Once they'd reached the other side of the ruined structure, Switzerland was taken aback by what was there.

There was a parking lot, marred by cracks and yellow spray paint. But what really surprised him was the fighter plane, hardly concealed by any canvases, standing out in the open in the midst of everything else.

The hooded boy from earlier was standing by the plane on guard duty. He was one of the graffiti hoodlum boys Switzerland had met before. The child watched them warily as they approached.

Switzerland couldn't help but gape in awe at the plane's maintained condition. It was haphazardly labeled, 'Gilbird the Rebel'.

"I still want to help, Switzy," Prussia started, halting by his aircraft. "It was just dangerous to ditch my plane."

Switzerland looked at him incredulously. "How does one guard, and a young boy for that matter, even  _protect_ this thing?" he asked furiously. "By the looks of it, you're not even trying to keep this plane a secret! Aren't you worried about thugs or bastards that would gun people down for this thing?"

Prussia placed his hands on his hips and nodded to the boy beside him. The youth strode up to Switzerland and revealed a handgun out of nowhere. Without a flinch or a sign of hesitation the boy aimed the gun straight to Switzerland's chest, a finger ready to pull the trigger. The gun was loaded.

Dazed, the Alpine stared hard at the boy and perceived not a child, but a killer. Though he had a youthful face of a fourteen-year-old, the boy's dangerous eyes displayed a trained ferocity.

Prussia had been training himself young soldiers, and he had ammunitions to spare.

"Don't try to punch the gun out of the kid," smiled the Prussian. "He can kick a grown man's ass, trust me. And we're not that worried about other gun men. We'll shoot them before they can shoot us."

The boy lowered the weapon and his face changed dramatically to a child again, grinning like his mentor.

Switzerland was left confused. "Yes, but I don't understand," he said. "You have yellow markings all over the place, you've managed to keep an airbase, and some small planes left intact, you've trained boys into soldiers and what's more, you have beer bottles with messages in search for Hungary. How?"

Prussia hesitated. He raised a hand and opened his mouth to tell him everything, but something was stopping him. Instead he turned to the boy, and took him out of Switzerland's earshot. They immersed themselves in a quick whispery exchange of words. The boy glanced back at Switzerland then to his Prussian mentor.

"What? What is it?" Switzerland queried, slightly infuriated by the exclusion. He had had enough of being left out. As he approached them, Prussia hugged the boy quickly and let him go.

They watched the child disappear into the trades building.

Switzerland grew impatient. "Where's he going? He's not coming with us?"

"Naaah." Prussia rubbed the back of his neck. "You know what Switzy…Austria will tell you everything. We will explain later. Right now is not the time." He turned to his plane. "And I've got some other news –"

"Wait! That boy's going to be out here alone? You said you have enough room! Did he stay behind for my sake?"

"I told him to stay here," Prussia replied. "I'm telling his big brothers to come and get him. He'll be fine on his own, he's a good kid. We both knew he was going to be left behind. Any Nations I find I bring to Austria. Don't worry about the kid." Prussia opened the plane's luggage compartment and displayed a range of supplies, from food to clothing.

Switzerland noticed a small box of cheese among them. He gasped, glaring at the cheese. "Where did you get that?"

"Huh?" Prussia followed his heated gaze. "Oh, the cheese? You got something against cheese?" His laughter was cut short when Switzerland grabbed his collar and pushed him against the plane.

"You stole them from a truck didn't you?"

"Geez, Switzerland! Just calm down! I told the kid to grab us a few things and, yeah, I guess he stole them for me – I don't know – it's his own business where he found it! We traded other shit, don't worry! No one got hurt!"

"Call the boy back. He's in terrible danger. He's all alone out here."

"I said he'll be fine on his own!"

"How dare you trust a kid to look after himself in this shitty hell?"

"Not everyone's a demon out here," Prussia choked. "I trust kids who had proven that they can look after themselves! Switzy, I thought you'd understand!"

"I do! I do trust them!" His voice quivered, his grip on Prussia loosened. "I  _did_  trust them! But I lost them!"

"Well then…" Prussia slowly pried himself off of the Alpine's hold. "After that, we just keep going." He shut the supply compartment.

Switzerland grew too tired to yell. He was reminded of the heartbreak all over again with those said words.

Prussia gave him with a weak smile. "Hey, Switzy. Okay, I do care about the kid," he reassured. "Don't think I don't. It's just – I just trust him. That's all.

"I trust him to make the right choices, to look after himself and survive. Whatever happens I care, and I will  _still_ care. I gave him everything he needs to live. It's my problem if anything bad ever happens." Prussia removed the hood over his head, and brushed his hair back with a hand. "And I'll deal with that afterwards. Right now I'm still helping some stupid Austrian. Besides…" he paused, and regarded the distant horizon past the aircraft. "That boy will find me again, I believe it. One way or another we'll see each other again."

Switzerland looked away. If Prussia had written what he had said on paper, Switzerland could read the subtle lines in between the words. "You weren't just talking about the boy," he muttered.

"You're not the only one missing his family," sighed the Prussian before climbing into the plane's cockpit.

Switzerland took a moment to watch the plane's propeller churn as the Prussian started the engine. The aircraft's hum and whirring noises were memorable sounds to his ears. He was going to fly again.

"Hey Switzy," Prussia called, "are you getting in or not?"

Switzerland hauled himself up to the second seat behind the other Nation. It was a familiar spot, though it wasn't the same type of plane as the Scarlet Baron. This one had more leg room, enough to actually seat one more person. Prussia did have enough room for a couple more passengers if they tried. He found himself preferring the cramped quarters of the plane he'd shared with a certain Belgian.

"Gilbert?"

"Yep?" The German was clicking a switch on the control panel.

"Do you have any guns?"

"Yep. There's a rifle under your seat if you look. It's well hidden and loaded. You're welcome!" There was his laughter again.

Switzerland ducked under his seat and found the rifle.

_Belgium_ _had laughed. "Well, I guess it will be useful when we hunt the livestock in the air!"_

_"You were going to say something about pigs flying, right?"_

He examined the weapon and tested it. The rifle was in good shape. He buckled up his seatbelt and by then, the plane was moving. Leaning back on his chair, he let out a long exhale and felt a wave of contentment rush through his whole body.

_Keep going._

_"We survived," he had said to her, before drinking down his half of their bottle of wine._

_"And we will tomorrow too," she had told him._

_Keep going._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Bitte nicht!" (German for: Please No!)
> 
> "Bel! It's me! Friendly fire," he said, "I beg you…" (Chapter 4, when Switzerland and Belgium met it was Belgium who said those lines to him.)
> 
> "I'll be fine!" and "At this time please, may I stay behind…and you go?" (Lili said these to Switzy in Chapter 4 and 5, these quotes were also what Bel had resurfaced here.)
> 
> "Up above the young Rhine," he murmured to himself, "Lies Liechtenstein, resting." His eyes heavily closed. "On Alpine heights…" (In Chapter 9, Belgium quoted this too, before she was taken away. It's a part of the national anthem of Liechtenstein.)
> 
> "We survived," he had said to her, before drinking down his half of their bottle of wine. "And we will tomorrow too," she had told him. (Chapter 9, when Bel and Switz shared wine together.)
> 
> "They are Nation-beings! They still have a couple of days, right?" (A Gutters head canon reference: Nation-beings can still live without their hearts for a only couple of days. Then they just expire.)
> 
> "As you wish." ( Novel reference from American William Goldnam's book 'The Princess Bride'. The three-worded quote implies love~ need I explain it?)
> 
> *** Dialogues and actions of Denmark, Sealand and Netherlands were according to Glassamilk's Gutters. I had not touched or altered there speech/actions, I had only paraphrased paragraphs to merge it with what's happening here.
> 
> The stringy man's character and the groups of people with farming equipment were also from Gutters. What the stringy man said to Ned, were also taken from Gutters. I only added a bit more villainous nature in him towards Switzerland.
> 
> *** Liechtenstein's momentary appearance: the words said, "Big brother…?","Watch out!" and "Brother, please!" were from Chapter 2. In the AO3 version of Retrace, that particular chapter was labeled "The Void of Despair".


	16. Nothing There and No One Left

_"He does not believe that does not live according to his belief." – Sigmund Freud (Austrian Psycologist and Philosopher, 1956 - 1939)_

* * *

 

He had been walking for more than half an hour already, and with only a few more paces to one of the secret entrances of the caves, he was almost home. He didn't care to turn back for either Turkey or Hungary. They were free. He could barely sense their presence now. He had distanced himself far enough from the river and the broken railroad.

 _Good riddance,_  Romania thought _._   _Who cares? I left them. They left me too. They're on their own. They're free from me, and I of them. Everyone's happy. I just lost a couple of traveling companions… That's all._ He tried a smile on his face for a moment but it shattered to a frown. _That's all. It's over. It's all over._

Trees scattered around a staircase of a mountain range which once looked familiar, if it weren't for the breath of chaos that had altered bits and pieces of formation. A miracle had left it standing and hollow. Those sheltered inside were blessed. The forest, so dead and blackened, stood like tall soldiers around it. They were the dead eyed obelisks looking down on them, and peering beyond the horizon.

The Nation-being of Romania remembered the grass, the breeze and all the colours that had once illuminated his world. Over the hills he found his proud city of Cluj, a deserted wasteland with skeletal framed buildings forsaken by the wrath of Nature, uninhabited and empty.

Slightly drowsy and coughing, he could faintly sense his patrol men nearby. No one had approached him yet. There was a familiar feeling of a bustling community a distance away, and he knew it was within his dear caves.

A stride away from where he stood was a nice spot to write something on the ground. With the stick in hand he redrew the map of his country and its neighbours –including Hungary's which he properly named this time, unlike last time's insult.

He scribbled everything again, from routes to zones, and encounters. It was still worth an overview even though his diagrams were mostly assumptions and recollections.

He was staring hard at the location of the train wreck with a long, and thoughtful sigh, when he suddenly noticed something.

There was a little marked dot of one of the cave entrances so close to it.

He feared those men that had killed Bulgaria would return with a raging vengeance, and maybe even bring more murderous people in their wake. They did not seem to be the type to let go of such an incident.

Romania paled. Deep down, he felt a heavy reluctance to confront his beloved Cluj family because of this. There was a fear to show his face to his people again – a fear to show up a hero in their eyes, when inside he felt like a piece of meat leading a 'bloodcult' straight to his family.

"'Bloodcult' sounds like a perfect name," he gulped. Fishing around his pockets, he pulled out his small hat and placed it on his head as if it were a thinking cap. Everything else he had was gone; no more weapons, deck of cards, gas masks, and food. He had been slowly stripped off of his defenses and supplies for the past few weeks.

Staying outside that evening, he tried climbing a tree. Without a rope and with flimsier trees around the cave it was a challenging endeavor. He managed to climb a short stubby one that was just a couple of meters from the ground. The height was comforting and perhaps a nap on a tree would soothe him.

"Sir?"

Romania almost fell off his perch.

"Sir!" A toothy smile emerged from the cover of charred tree trunks. "It  _is_  you, sir!"

He yawned, blinking back the urge to sleep. The man was Marku Sala who he also called, 'Lanky'.

The patroller approached him, wearing dark neat overalls and a bandana around his neck. Over his head was a polished respiration mask. The patrol man also had a rifle, which he eventually slung behind him to greet his leader. Following the man were a few others humbly dressed the same; dark clothes, armed with either gun or knife, and wearing familiar faces and smiles which made Romania's heart ache.

With newfound energy, the Nation-being climbed down his tree grinning from ear to ear. "Lanky!" he greeted, arms wide open as if to embrace him and everyone else at once. "And you brought a whole welcoming party with you!" One by one he acknowledged them with smiles, handshakes and a pat on the back.

"Er, yessir," Lanky nodded. "We was gonna scout t' river. 'Noticed some bit o' scramblin' o'er there earlier. 'Nd some smoke, we detected..."

Romania rubbed the back of his neck. "Oh yeah…that…"

As they were heading to one of the entrances of the caves, Romania told them everything: from finding an 'ugly maiden' and a 'masked sultan', to the death of their comrades including Illes and Bob, and finally to the derailment of one of their precious trains for the sake of saving a boy and an old friend, only to lose them in the end.

By the time he was finished, they were at the very doorstep of one the cave entrances, which was covered with rags and a heap of debris. To enter, one must worm through a tight space in between jutting wood and stone. There were other cave entrances larger or more intricate than this one. Romania remembered there were five around the southern area, and an additional four on the north side.

"I know 'tis not m' business t' pry, Sir," Lanky spoke as they lingered outside the ruins, "But your agenda really troubled th' rest of us fo' months." Romania looked apologetically at the man. "'s been past a month since you've been gone, Sir. Everyone's a worryin', 'nd we were just lucky 'nough to 'void fightin' each other. But…er…arguments've been growin' intense 'n th' past weeks."

Romania turned away. "I said to keep prayer," he said coldly.

"We was, we was!" Lanky fretted. "'M 'mean we did. No one 's fightin', we was just bickerin'. Anyway, last week we sent a couple 'o guys to take some initiative 'nd scout ahead for Ukraine, Sir."

"I see."

"We didn't disobey, Sir. Honest! We were jus' gonna report our findin's t' you after."

Romania fiddled with his sleeve before taking hesitant steps around ruined pieces of framework. "Sounds good," he chimed, "I would've asked you to send people over there to check anyway. So, any news?"

"Nothin' new from the merchants 'round the place," Lanky proceeded. "There's still th' talk o' some Russian ship dockin' 'n the west. But one o' th' guys found this flyer all o'er Ukraine's border..." The patrol man handed him a bright yellow piece of paper that illustrated an announcement in bold letters.

The Nation's eyes widened at the flyer. 'Total Evacuation' it screamed, in big bolded chunky letters that made his head spin and his throat dry.

Lanky's voice sounded distant when he asked him, "Does this change 'r plans,  _izbăvitor_?"

Romania fumbled. "…oh ugh…" He almost forgot he was addressed as their Saviour, and he wondered if the patrol man had said it to remind him who he was to them. "Well…"

The announcement of total evacuation in Ukraine could only mean one thing: Ukraine had been emptied. Russia had left his land with his sister and their surviving populace.

Clearing his mind, Romania gingerly folded the yellow paper and tucked it in one of his pockets. "I will give everyone three days for preparations to Poland instead," he instructed. His men straightened up for further commands.

"This announcement tells us Ukraine is no longer a favourable location," he declared. "My assumption is that the surviving citizens of the country have been evacuated ever since these flyers have been distributed. Most likely Ukraine, and the rest of Russia, is under quarantine or isolation. Sala, I'd like to verify something: how many flyers did your scouts find?"

"Several, Sir," Lanky replied quickly. "Like prop'ganda posters stuck on ev'ry wall, 'nd flyin' 'round the rubble. We was guessin' they've been there for 'month o' two after th' rapture."

The Romanian Nation sighed. "Then my assumption's valid," he said evenly, "We will be rerouting our move. Ukraine's no longer a safe zone, and Poland's our next best bet. Men, I rather not take our women and children to Ukraine only to find nothing there, and I am  _not_  risking any more long months in the caves either. We are running out of supplies. Tomorrow we begin our course for north, to Poland. There should be no problem to start moving our divisions. All of you  _have_  been preparing for the travel while I was gone, right?" He faced his patrol with commanding air and scanning eyes.

Without hesitation their heads nodded eagerly and their lips told him yes. Under their masks they were hiding a feeling of gladness. Romania could tell they were relieved to finally move forward, and of course, to be led by their Saviour once more.

He cleared his throat nervously. "Right! I – I'll make arrangements tonight," he stammered tiredly, his body yearning for rest, "uh – and I'll have the official group classifications ready for patrol men, as well as an official listing of the community divisions for each patrol..." From the numbers of those killed on duty, Romania realized the number of his patrol men reduced by a third. "Mhmm…I'll need a headcount on who's still on patrol…"

"Stop right there young man!" A female voice interrupted from the cave entrance. Out of the rubble scurried a short old lady wearing an apron and carrying a wooden spoon. She had a head scarf wrapped around her dark curly hair.

"Oh?" Romania gawked at the old lady approaching him; there was impatience clear in her every stride. "Good morning lovely Cook, I – "

"Where is your gas mask? What did you do to your clothes?" The old Cook fired her questions, "You are a mess! How long has it been since you last shaved that face of yours? Where are your things? I need to patch up that suit again, don't I? Oh dear! What have you been eating?  _Have_ you been eating at all?"

"Gabi, I've just – "

"You're not leading us anywhere until you've taken a shower, cleaned, fattened up and slept until tomorrow!" scoffed the woman. For an old lady, she still had the energy to smack someone on the arm with a wooden spoon. "Get inside this instant! Your boy, Cosmin Dumitrescu came back as drenched and muddied as you! And Nadia – I can't believe I'm cleanin' – "

"Whoa – What? Oh Cosmin? Wait, what happened to Nadia?"

"Nadia's fine, dear, it's Cosmin you should be worrying about," exclaimed the woman, waving a hand. "Just come with me! Let your men deal with everything else. You need some rest, a bath, food…"

Romania smiled as she drifted on to a list of things to do for him. He didn't mind her fussing at all; he missed her grandmotherly care. She was one of his favorite human beings, tough as any iron lady, and she had a knack for cooking tastefully and economically at the same time – hence she was the head Cook who also supervised the provisions in the caves.

Over his shoulder he quickly tossed the rest of his orders to the patrol behind him. "All right men, just keep doing what you've been doing," he called, "I'll send out another patrol to help sweep up the riverbank. I'll come by later, just give me a couple of hours or so! Oh, and if you find those two I've mentioned, you know what to do!"

"Understood, Sir." Lanky acknowledged him before frowning, "But what if we don't find the two you've mentioned?"

Romania did not answer that before disappearing into the cave.  _Well then, g_ _ood riddance,_  he repeated to himself silently _._ _They're free from me, and I of them. Everyone's happy!_

Then again, there was something in his heart that made him feel for those two Nation-beings he had left behind after all...

* * *

"Are ye sure yer not bothered with the boilin' things…'n all?"

"What?! Your competitive spirit's  _gone_ , Turkey? Why don't you join me?"

The Hungarian's white shirt hugged her body, and her hair felt like seaweed, tainted by the murk she'd been diving into. Seated by the muddy banks, near where she'd started a pile-up of findings, was the Turkish Nation absently staring out at the horizon. Hungary did not mind lumbering out of the river, half-naked and tugging at a collar of another dead man. Turkey wasn't staring at her – not that she'd care anyway.

For the past few hours, Hungary had only been swimming and pulling out dead corpses from the river, in hopes to find Bulgaria's body and Moldova on the other side. She had crossed the river as best she could, and confirmed traces of a young child's boot tracks scuttling to nowhere into the charred forests. Turkey claimed it was Moldova's and Hungary believed it. She hadn't seen any other children out here.

"I ain't joinin' you," smiled the Turk, crossing his arms. "That water's disgustin'. I'm gonna sit this one out and fold yer clothes or somethin'."

Hungary had taken off her boots and her suit and pants earlier to have an easier time swimming – she'd even trusted Turkey with the Immunity syringe which he didn't really care much about.

When Hungary dove into the water, little did she anticipate the strange temperature changes around the wreckage site, and yet through it all, she swam around the train wreck. She was close enough to find stray bodies and debris, but far enough to avoid extremely heated zones. She had managed to pull out five bodies, and after spending six hours in the depths, she had counted eight bodies, none of whom was Bulgaria. The rod that had impaled him was missing too.

 _Strange._  Hungary coughed as she dragged the eighth hollow corpse onto the riverbank to the rest of the pile. She could barely crawl over to Turkey's side to retrieve her clothes. Without food and with all the contaminated filth in her mouth, she felt so drained and goddamned tired that she didn't even care if her stomach and her face landed heavily on the mud. If Austria was there to see her now, he would've cringe in disgust – that'd always amused her. If Prussia was there he'd be laughing his ass off, and that was annoying…

"Here's yer stuff," said the Turk's voice.

Hungary gave him a muddy sideways glance.

"Seriously…" she breathed. "You were…scared of…a little…boiling water?"

"Naaaah," Turkey chuckled, lifting her up to sit and helping her wipe her face. "I just didn't wanna touch that water again after what happened. But you…you really like swimming though don'tcha?"

"An old hobby..."

"Can you stand up?"

"I'm just tired…hold my arm?"

"And have you start limpin' by my side? I don't think so!"

Before Hungary could register what he was going to do, her folded clothes were shoved to her hands and strong arms lifted her off her feet and cradled her like a child. She blinked back her shock as Turkey carried her and placed her gently on dry ground, a few steps away from the muddy banks and the smell of corpses.

He was grinning from ear to ear when she looked up at him. "You're leg," Hungary beamed, "and your burns...You're healed?"

"Sorta…Besides standin', I've been practicin' my legs while you were busy. I'm still limping but not as much, and my burns are still stingin' but not as bad as before too. I haven't been really complaining about my state, so…I'm okay."

Hungary's smile faded. "That means…" She exhaled. "That means you can walk to Cluj on your own, Turkey."

"…what?"

"Once I get my strength back, I am building a boat."

Turkey chortled, "Out of dead people?"

"Turkey…"

"I'm guessin' you want me to  _leave_  you? You want me to barge into Ro's place and crash his party or somethin', while you, a  _lady_ , build a raft out of a buncha dead guys? Then, what? You sail away into the horizon, not thinkin' about the damned air and yer sexy body alone in an untamed land with those bastard goonies runnin' around with sticks and stones to break yer bones? I don't think I'm gonna let you go out there on yer own."

Hungary's eyes lit up. "So it  _is_  possible to build a raft out of dead bodies?"

"Hungary," Turkey scowled, "I'm bein' serious."

"Since when?" Hungary snapped and got up achingly, "You haven't made any sense until now!" She wobbled and leaned one arm against a charred tree trunk. "Turkey, ever since we found you, you've been delusional and injured. You can't help me anymore! I am going to Austria and Prussia if it is the last thing I do!" Her step forward sent her to her knees. "I don't care what you say!" she cried. "I want to build a boat, leave this place and finally go away! I'm not being rash, I just want to leave and find them already! I'm going to build a boat…and leave…"

"Hungary…?"

She didn't even notice someone drape her suit top over her shoulders. Turkey had picked them up for her to at least remind her she wasn't wearing all of her clothes – not that she'd care...

"After all that," the Turk sighed, "You really don't wanna stick around Romania anymore do you? Not even for supplies? Like a boat? And food?"

"No. I'm done here."

"Oh really?

"You forget I hate him."

"Yeah, but you also hate Prussia."

"Don't you DARE compare Prussia to that asshat!"

"He rescued you and fed you…"

"I've warned him of Bulgaria, I've helped him out alive, and I haven't killed him. I have also looked for Bulgaria's damn body and found nothing! I have also confirmed Moldova's hopping around out there on his own." She faced Turkey with all the fire in her eyes. "I refuse to believe I still owe something to that cursed Romanian! I am ready to leave!"

She turned to the opposite direction with renewed energy, blood pounding in her ears. "I am going to go to Austria! And you can't stop me Sadık Anan! I don't care if it takes me another shitty day to build a boat, but I AM going to build that – !"

_Klaaang!_

A metal object hit her hard on the back of the head with an echoing sound.

Dark blurry figures circled her, and before swirling into darkness and hitting the ground, she caught someone's familiar, infuriating laughter muffled behind a gas mask.

_"Ha, ha! Who knew he'd actually hit you in the back of the head with a frying pan, Maygar!"_

* * *

"But you got to admit that was awesome!"

"If broken bones and a sick stomach are the outcomes, then yes," Switzerland groaned, "it was…awesome." He cringed from the bruises along his arms, and gritted his teeth from a pulled muscle along his leg. For any individual with a queasier stomach than he, they would've retched during the flight and after the landing. He stumbled out of the plane dizzily, and after a moment, cleared his head.

The quiet murmur of the aircraft's engine was a hum of a happy tune in the midst of the forsaken. Prussia was still seated in the cockpit, searching for something in his stash.

Within the ruined roads of Linz, were the colours of moss and decay. Rocks had triumphed over melted metal and vehicles, rejectamenta sprinkled everywhere he looked, and wood had been eaten away by the black stains of old fires. Bodies of the past opened their mouths at airy passerby, telling them there was no one left in the streets.

Switzerland said silent little prayers to the land, eyes blinking back tears and stinging dust.

Prussia was checking engines and valves, under the pressure of lowering fuels. Eventually he perked up with a rectangular box in his hand.

"Okay, I found it Switzy," the German exclaimed. "I think you can take it from here!"

"What?" The rectangular box was tossed to his hands. Suspicious, he wished to open it.

Prussia shrugged. "I don't really care if you open that box. You wouldn't understand it though. I rather you give it to Austria first."

Even with that note, Switzerland peered inside. There was a large syringe in it; empty and drained of whatever drug it had once contained. Its tiny pinprick was dulled with dried blood, and its cylinder was tainted with the reds. Switzerland looked up at the cockpit and found Prussia looking down at him, armed with a rifle over his shoulder, and a belt of guns around his waist. The Prussian was wearing a rare unreadable expression.

"What's this for?" Switzerland asked in an even tone.

Prussia huffed irritably. "I said, you should give it to Austria – "

"This is a blood-stained needle, Prussia." Switzerland said fiercely, "What are you and Austria hiding?"

"We'll explain later! Just go get Austria first before we run out of bullets and airplane fuel!"

Switzerland rolled his eyes with a grunt of frustration.

The roads looked unfamiliar, cluttered as they were with all the wreckage, but he had an idea where the Austrian was. Prussia had given him enough directions during their flight here. In a sense, Switzerland could faintly remember the streets of Linz before the destruction. Around the bend of streets was a line of decaying trees leading up to a rusty gate and beyond that was one of Austria's mansions.

Perched on the aircraft, Prussia looked extremely alert. His pale auburn eyes were skimming past buildings and horizons, and the rifle in his hands was steady and loaded. After a thoughtful pause, the Alpine wielded his own rifle on one hand, while his other held onto the box with the syringe.

"Remember to smile when you find your old friend!" Prussia chuckled. When Switzerland didn't say anything he added, "You two _were_ friends, right?"

"Acquaintances," Switzerland mumbled.

"Close enough! Okay, get going! I want to see that silly little girl-boy after this!"

 _Girl-boy?_  Switzerland pondered. "You sound so sure you're going to find Hungary…"

Prussia grinned. "Yeah, we are going to find Hungary, because she's so awesome, but not as awesome as me. I bet you five hundred cats and Deutschmarks that girl-boy hasn't gotten herself killed yet!"

Switzerland frowned and turned to stride a few steps forward.

"Wait, Switzerland!" The Prussian sounded like he was projecting a whisper from above, "I forgot to tell you something!"

The Alpine let out an irritated noise. "WHAT?" He carelessly raised his voice a little too loud.

"Tell him to eat shit! And that Prussia's gonna get your ex-wife!"

Switzerland shook his head. "I'm not telling him that."

"He's gone nuts! He'll understand!"

"What do you mean by that? Is he alright?"

"More and less! Now go! Hurry up before we start yelling at each other!"

Switzerland suddenly wondered if there were any lurkers around. During the flight Prussia had said something about hoodlums guarding Austria's mansion. If Prussia had ordered men nearby, they would've approached them by now. However, no one had yet emerged. Perhaps Austria was really being held inside his mansion, and Prussia's hoodlums would rather not leave their posts. Instead of greeting the commanding Prussian, they guard the Austrian. There was something eerie about that.

Switzerland regarded Prussia for a moment. "More  _and_  less?" he queried.

"Hmm?" The Prussian's eyes were elsewhere. "Oh – yeah – I mean, if you mean he's all right, as in  _all right_ , then he is. But if you mean he's  _all right_... "

Switzerland sharply turned and hurried for the direction of the mansion grounds. He did not need Prussia to finish what he was going to say. Something was definitely wrong and he needed to find out what it was.

* * *

"I can't believe I did that," gasped the Turk. His hand was clutching the handle of a frying pan.

Romania was laughing so hard, he was swatting the air before realizing he wasn't slapping Turkey's back for congratulations.

Turkey cautiously placed the pan on the ground beside the Hungarian's unconscious form.

"Sadık, my friend," laughed the Romanian, wiping a tear from his eye after taking off his gas mask, "You've just won the most Hitting-The-Magyar-Ironically-with-a-Frying-Pan Award! What an honour!"

"She's gonna kill me." Turkey looked worriedly at him.

Romania gestured for his men to stand guard a distance away from them, and after the patrollers disappeared in silent compliance, the Nation strode over to Turkey with a hooded seriousness in his eyes. Although whatever he was going to say seriously, was betrayed by the slight grin on his face.

"Alright Turk," Romania sneered, "Tell me something." Turkey reluctantly took a small step back. "I think a few things went down by the riverbed between you and Miss Muscle-Maid here, and I want to know just the –" Romania fiddled with his gloved fingers, "the general idea…Nothing detailed – just the big picture. I really don't want to know why she's half-naked and why you're  _lookingatmelikethat_ , but let's just –"

"We did nothin' stupid if that's what yer thinkin'," fumed Turkey.

"Do not give me a bunch of taradiddles."

"A buncha whah?"

"You're not familiar with hooey?" Romania circled the Turk with an accusing look in his eyes and a smile on his face, underlining the definition of nonsense. "I don't want to hear baloney, bananas, horse feathers, soft soap, gobbledygook –"

"Okay, okay! I get it!" Turkey shook his head, completely frustrated of the grocery list. He grabbed Romania's collar just to stop the jesting. "Listen Romania, here's yer no-nonsense shit, alright?

"She wasn't wastin' time running around half-naked in yer fantasies, she was – " Romania made a face mocking disgust, before Turkey shook him to pay attention, "She went swimmin' okay?! She went back in that damn river to pick out the dead guys that tried to kill us! She's been pullin' shit out of that river for hours lookin' for your little brother and your old friend! She didn't find anythin' but a kid's footprints on the other bank!"

"No–"

"I've been standin' by the sidelines lookin' out there for her because we believe your little kid's still alive! We found tracks – !"

Romania narrowed his eyes to crimson slits at the Turk's pupils beyond the mask.

Turkey did not let go of his collar, but his grip loosened. "What?"

Romania gritted his teeth. "I said no…more…nonsense," he murmured venomously.

The Turk looked baffled. "Nonsense? Are ye serious? But I'm tellin' the truth! Your kid is still out there!  _Moldova_  is still out there!"

 _No he's not_ , thought the Romanian. With a growl, he roughly shoved Turkey away and yelled at him with a finger pointed. "I DON'T want to hear ANY of their names anymore! You got that?" Turkey almost fell back in shock, as if the words were a punch in the face and the gut.

Romania really wanted to forget the names.  _Turkey_ _'s wrong. The boy…_ Romania frantically tore off the image of that boy. The ones he had lost last night were all gone. He was there and he'd witnessed everything. A child confirmed it.

There was nothing for him out there anymore. There were no hearts to find and no beats pulsing for him to hold on to. Fixing his collar he could hear his patrol men surrounding them.

Turkey stiffened. "Alex?"

Romania snapped his fingers comically to Hungary's direction; his attitude shifting as he put on a different façade for his comrades. Two patrollers with knapsacks behind them bent down, pulled out a couple of blankets from their packs, and started wrapping Hungary with them.

"Hey, hey, hey!" Turkey limped over to them. "I can carry her from here."

The two patrollers glanced up at Romania for word on Turkey.

The fanged-Nation rolled his eyes. "The big guy's friendly, don't worry men," he told them with a smirk. "He can carry a rubber chicken."

Turkey's puzzlement really entertained him, but the moment his gaze fell on a sneaky little figure hiding behind one the patrollers, the Romanian was suddenly reminded of his duties...

"Alex, wait a minute!" Turkey grabbed his shoulder, making him flinch. "What's gotten into you?" he asked. "Why don't you want to know? What about their names?"

Instead of replying to the Turk, he called out a name.

A little boy wearing a filtration mask, eagerly emerged from the group of patrollers, as if the summoning was one of the best things that had happened to him. Under the mask, was a boy that appeared to be eight years old, with spiky short hair, and a jacket too large at the sleeves, though it was altered enough for his height. He was one of the orphans Romania had rescued, and a friend of Nadia's.

Cosmin.

The boy who wore something so dear that tore the strings in Romania's heart.

Cosmin bounded up to them, with large wide eyes and a grin. "I'm coming, Sir!"

Turkey paled. "I don't…"

Romania placed a hand on the little boy's shoulders. "Tell this big guy what you found, kid," he said.

"Sir, yes sir!" the boy saluted, then pointed up at the accessory on his head, "This, Sir!"

The little hat on his head had the familiar velvety ribbons of Moldova. Without a doubt, it was the Nation-being's unique hat worn moments before the train's derailment. "I found this hat by the river this morning. You should've seen the fireworks..."

"As I was saying Sadık," Romania muttered. He did not need to face the Turk to sense the disbelief. " _No one_ 's out there anymore…"

"No," Turkey quivered. "No, no, no, that's impossible. Ro –Alex – you gotta believe me – I swear he's still out there! I –"

"ENOUGH!" Romania commanded in an explosive tone, silencing man and Nation. "I said. That's…enough."

The fanged-Nation clenched his fists and straightened up with total control. The red in his eyes glistened as he marched forward without turning back.

"My men and I have plans, Anan," Romania said firmly. "If you want to survive a little longer, come with us and comply with my every order." His sharp tooth twinkled. "I am pretty sure you don't have much of a choice being out here…unless you want to count the buffet of bodies by the banks as a full-course menu, I am not restraining you. Just don't waste any more of our time.

"Oh, and if you're coming along," he grinned, "don't forget Sleeping Beauty over there…Then again, if you can't carry the Magyar, you can leave her behind."

Turkey tightened his lips. "I'll do it."

Over his shoulder, Romania watched the Turk lift the bundled up Hungarian in his arms with grim determination. He wondered how much pain numbed the man's leg to no more feeling.  _Turkey's leg must've healed faster than I predicted_ , Romania thought, taking reluctant steps forward. He believed the challenge the Turk accepted might reopen old wounds.  _That gobbling sultan couldn't just_ leave _that Magyar behind_   _for his own sake?_  He cursed silently, reminding himself of something he did on his own terms in the very beginning.

The patrollers followed, and among them was the little boy that had silenced any hopes of another child's survival.

Romania marched them to the direction of one of the closest cave entrances. He glanced over his shoulder again, and found a miserable Turk and an unconscious Hungarian. One of the patrollers walking alongside them was carrying the frying pan he had let Turkey borrow earlier, and another patroller had Hungary's things, including the boots Romania had given her the day he found her by the ditch.

Romania slowed his pace and fell beside Turkey with a blend of emotions.

"Hey I didn't mean to be harsh," he told him. "I just don't want to think about it anymore…Especially after what Cosmin found..."

Turkey snorted. "Yeah well, you'll always be reminded if you don't get rid of that kid's hat." He frowned at Cosmin's direction – the boy was out of ear shot, and trailing beside Lanky leading them to the caves.

Romania blinked away. "I'll get rid of it eventually."

"Also I'll keep remindin' you of what Hungary tried doin' for ye," Turkey added.

The Romanian beamed. "Speaking of the rubber chicken…" He flounced past his men, and paused in front of a wall of rock. With gloved fingers he drummed his chin, and his eyes flickered from the wall and debris, to the charred tree branches.

The patrollers halted as well, with no surprise reaction to their Saviour's oddities, unlike Turkey who was staring at them with utter confusion.

Romania stepped around a yard of rotting rubble and wood, and after fingering the stone he found what he was looking for: a large overhang along the wall acting as a sliding door. Arms outstretched, he hugged it as if it was the best damn thing he ever had. "All right gents," he announced with a tilted grin, "I believe we are here."

Turkey shot him a perplexed look, but Romania only smiled wider. "Lanky, Cosmin," the Romanian called over, "take the boys to the Third Access. Sadık, grab a stick and stick around. We're taking the scenic route."

With his free arm, he waved for Turkey to hurry over to the rocky overlap, while his men saluted and disappeared for another entrance. "Dinner's in five, Sir!" Cosmin called back before scuttling away with the others. "If you leave the caves again Cosmin," Romania grumbled, "I will chuck a chicken at you."

Still carrying Hungary, Turkey cautiously tiptoed around the clutter of splintering wood chunks, and when he finally reached Romania, he had beads of sweat running down his forehead. "Okay," he huffed, "What next, Alex?"

The jutting stone Romania had been embracing was a part of a wall to a maze-like tunnel. Without a word and only a smug look of contentment, the Romanian squeezed around the overlapping rock and slithered through the narrow passage to find the tall cave mouth, well hidden behind a second wall. He could hear Turkey follow him through the dimness. A few rustling noises made him think the Turk was trying to adjust to the narrowness as he held on to Hungary.  _Whom he should've left behind,_ the Romanian pondered.

It was not one of the well-lit tunnels he realized, but it was one of his favourite cave tunnels. He continued to worm through the tunnel, feeling the stone gently with a swipe of his fingers.

"Alex?" Turkey's voice echoed. " _Alex?_ "

Romania chuckled. "Almost theeerrreee…" he jeered. "Just follooooww my voiiice..." He could hear the sounds of rushing water bouncing around the walls. His boots started to squeak and his gloves felt the snaking streams of water on rock.

There was a slightly steep descent a few paces down and a short climb to a leveled section of the tunnel, which led to the hidden community. He was almost there, but he chose to finally stop and wait for Turkey to catch up.

 _This place is the best part,_  Romania grinned, seeing light stream down from a couple of holes above. He reached the end of the descent where the tunnel opened up to a small cave. A fountain of water cascaded from the low lying rocks to a shallow pool, big enough to accommodate a family of four.

For a few moments he could only hear the rushing stream, muffling all other noises. It was a stream fresh enough to quench thirsty wanderers, and clean enough to bathe in, unlike the rivers outside. The water was a rare jewel in times of the tainted, and it was treasured in the cave, working with another fountain on the opposite end of the grottos. He wasn't sure where the water was coming from, but if it was from a river outside, filtered to create these little pools, he felt blessed.

Romania unlaced the gas mask around his neck and washed it in the pool. Perhaps the Turk got lost?  _Can't be,_  he dismissed,  _there's only this tunnel leading down and up. Unless –_

"ALEX! She's –"

" _WHERE_  IS HE?"

Romania jumped to his feet. He could hear several echoing sounds at once; a rustling and a crashing of boots against damp stone. Then a squeak and a slip. "Hungary, wait!"

Romania couldn't see through the tunnel but he could hear a piercing yell coming from where he knew Turkey was. Before he could ask what was going on, another body slipped down the descent and stumbled down straight for him. The female Nation collided with him, sending them both slipping into the delicate pool.

He and the Hungarian crashed into the water with a resounding splash. Outraged, Hungary staggered up to untangle their limbs – he felt himself flush with anger. "Holy crap!"

Half-covered in a drenched blanket, she was having a hard time lifting herself off him.

"Shut up! I'm trying to get off you, you candle-jerk!"

"You better get off me, you manly-maid!" He struggled to break free, sputtering water from his mouth after almost drowning pinned underneath her. "Geez –"

"Shit!" With no other choice, Hungary ripped off the heavy, wet blanket from her skin to detach herself from him. Finally with ease, she immediately grabbed his collar with one hand while another readied a threatening fist. She ignored the fact that she was only wearing her tank top over her bra and underwear. Her green eyes met his with fierce concentration, and for a second he felt slightly intimidated.  _Slightly._

"I swear," spat the Hungarian, "If you let Turkey hit me with a frying pan again –"

"GET OFF ME!" Romania tried to push her off him only to have her slip and fall onto him again. "Argh! Thisissoweird – you'rehalf-naked – exactly,  _where_  are your pants?"

"For your information, I was fishing out dead people from your damn river!"

"I didn't ask you to! You could've left them there to rot!"

Turkey arrived panting. "Oh, hey there you two –"

"I was looking for your friend and your brother, you asshat!"

"Maaagyaaar, geeeet oooooff meeeee!" Romania snarled at the Hungarian Nation, locking into her changing, striking eyes. He was half submerged in the pool, trapped by Hungary's choking grip on his collar. He wouldn't admit he was pinned, but it felt like he couldn't move under the weight of her knee against his torso. Her other knee was between his legs and he'd rather not describe the awkward discomfort. "Geez – why are you still here anyway?" he questioned, agitated. "Shouldn't you be searching for your two dearly beloved husbands?"

"I want one of your boats," Hungary growled.

"You're not taking anything anymore from me, Magyar!"

"Watch me!"

"I'd rather not."

"I saved your life!"

"Oh, well, I didn't know you cared so much."

"Don't mind me," Turkey mumbled in the background. "I'm here for moral support…"

"I can drown you right here, right now, Romania!"

"Go ahead! You'd be doing me a favour! This  _is_  a pool of tears!"

" _Istenem,_  they're not dead! I didn't find  _any_  of their bodies!"

"Is that bad news for you? They've been taken away by magical spirits. I rather not dwell – "

"What do you mean? How could you believe they're gone, just like that?"

"I saw everything! Unlike you, I'm not as blind as a bat!"

"You're so – urrrgh! " Hungary let out a noise of frustration and gripped his collar tighter, shaking him. Her fisted hand still hovering over his face, ready to punch him senseless.

Romania rolled his eyes. "I'm glad we understand each other."

"Asshat!"

"Witch!"

"I swear –"

"I'd like to see you try and kill me! Right here! Right now!"

"Sir…?"

Lanky was standing beside Turkey, who looked at them with a smile and a shrug. Hungary hurriedly took the moment to scramble out of the water, fish out the blanket she threw off earlier, and wrap it around her body. Romania lingered in the pool soaked from hair to boot, perplexed and irritated.

" _Semmi sem történt köztünk!_ " Hungary muttered as she fixed her newly wet hair behind her shoulders. Her legs were bruised from the fall, and she winced with every step.

"Don't be sad about it," Romania coughed with a sardonic smile. He pulled out his tiny top hat from one of his jacket pockets, and frowned at the sight of it, crushed and wrinkled.

"If y' don't mind me askin'…" Lanky blinked at the Turk. "How do they know each other?"

Turkey grinned. "Believe me," he replied, "it'll take me  _centuries_  to tell ye all about it. See, between them? It never gets old."

"Oh…" Lanky scratched his head.

"Now, where are these 'indoor cave houses' you've mentioned?" the Turk wondered.

"I'm coming with you," Hungary interjected.

Lanky nodded. He held out a welcoming palm to the direction of where a light was shinning, up ahead the tunnel. The passageway was a sloping climb, and it had a trail of dancing fire-lights illuminated by melting candles placed above eye level. Each candle appeared to have been replaced a few times; the planks of wood holding them up were barely visible through the drips of wax. The passage's walls were stone, reflecting warm and cool light – a tunnel much different from the dimness of the first they'd gone through.

Lanky started his climb, and Turkey followed with a limp. "This path looks pretty cliché to me," grunted the Turk.

Hungary stayed by his side, wary and silent. They were almost to the wooden archway when Romania joined them, after taking off his overcoat.

"You got my favourite jacket all wet, Magyar," he pouted, adjusting the wet coat slung over his shoulder. His other hand held his hat and mask.

Before Hungary could make a smart retort, Cosmin peered his head through the entry. "Sir! We've got more news from the north patrollers!"

Romania caught a glimpse of Hungary's stunned expression. "Cosmin," he addressed in a gentle mutter, "You never let me down..." He paused. "Except maybe with that hat on your head, but anyway, what is it?"

The boy fixed his wild eyes up at him. "I just ran to the front entrance," he said quickly, "just when I was gonna check on stuff, one of the guys was runnin' up to me, and then he told me about a Polish man passin' through – "

Romania cut him off with a gloved hand to his mouth. "Oh wait," he smiled down at the boy. "We'll discuss this after dinner."

Cosmin jumped up and down. "Your magic senses are tingling,  _izbăvitor_?"

"You bet they are!" Romania ruffled the boy's hair.

"Your…what now?" Turkey asked bemused.

"Never mind that, Sadık," said Romania, with his attention on Hungary's gaze. She was eyeing the mini hat Cosmin was wearing, and her incredulous look displayed her dislike of the boy. Romania did not want to bring up that subject again. Turkey could fill her in about Moldova's hat later.

He let out a half-hearted chuckle, moved on, and led them to the mouth of the bustling community he called home. Hungary trailed behind them with uneasy steps. When his patrollers quickly left his side for their duties, Romania stood by the other Nation-beings staring in awe at the very world before them.

The tunnel opened to an enormous expanse of hollowed stone. It was a cave large enough for a three-story building to fit, sheltering a small community of men, women and children, containing families in tall structures of careful construction and housing. The crafty  
framework supported at least three platforms, and they stood as roofless tree houses, carrying blankets, crates and bedspreads. There were several makeshift doors, and coloured curtains dividing rooms.

Light peeked through cavern holes in the center of the ceiling, and it bounced around the room illuminating their secret world. In some areas, candlelight and humble hearths lit the place, providing a warm glow in the cozy cave interior.

There was a flow of conversation among the busy bodies in the community, as news spread of the early leave for Poland tomorrow.

People flooded the caves' central ground where there was a small pyramid of crates piled up. There were a couple of horseless wagons parked by one of the cave entrances facing northward, and beside them were people lined up, crates in their arms, slowly loading the wagon.

The smell of delicious cooking travelled to their noses, making their stomachs grumble and their heads turn to the source. There was a picnic table set beside a kitchen area. Children were gathering around it in line for their meals. Romania could see Gabi's figure waddling among them, holding a pot of soup in a sea of kids. Nadia was with them, reaching out for some bread.

He also spotted some patrol men here and there. Lanky was conversing with a group near a wagon, and Romania spied Cosmin climbing up one of the tall roofless, watch towers, with a couple of other kids.

Then suddenly, almost as one, their faces turned to him.

People looked up at his direction with smiles and waves, greeting him and inviting him to join them in their little groups. He only responded with a warm smile and a shy wave, because deep down, he didn't want to face them yet. Not yet.

He was a man lifting up an empty trophy after bloodshed, and a Nation-being who felt undeserving of such strong people.

Romania smiled down at the world he had rescued. He had to admit, the people had rescued themselves. He had only helped them establish cave dwellings. He didn't deserve all the credit.

He glanced back at the Turk and the Hungarian, and was completely entertained by their reactions. Turkey appeared to be looking at everything his eyes could see. Like catching butterflies with a net, he made sure to notice every little thing possible; intrigued by the harmony, the laughter, the children, the interesting individuals dancing, cooking, strolling by…

On the other hand, Hungary looked unimpressed. Either that or she was hiding her awe behind a scowl. Her eyes were scanning the place with undoubtable scrutiny, and her shoulders were tensed, probably bristling under her blanket. Romania sighed, and with hands behind his back, he ambled over to her side.

He cleared his throat and said every word in a tune. "And so, the fool hath dumbfounded his companions..."

Turkey murmured, " _My Allah…_ "

"Spoke the man," Romania added. He paused to wait a moment for Hungary to say something, but when she didn't he continued with a tinge of mock in his tone, "' _Istenem!_ ' spoke the woman with eyes in awestruck, and…do I see a teardrop…?"

Hungary's flaming glare cut him off.

"Right," he straightened up. "So I'm going to go and do important stuff. You two, make yourselves at home. I'll give you a tour later…if I feel like it. Anyway feel free to talk to people. Magyar, don't look at me like that, because yes, there are enough Hungarians in here for your appetite. Oh, and I've got an after-dinner discussion later, so don't be late for that – "

"Why does  _he_  have  _it_?" Hungary deadpanned.

Romania knew exactly who she meant. "You're bringing that up again?"  _Of all the glorious things before her very eyes –_

"Don't bother, Hungary," Turkey butted in. Romania felt some relief. "I'll tell you about it later," sighed the Turk. "But what I  _do_  want to know…"

"Here goes," Romania rolled his eyes.

"Is about your 'magic senses'," chortled the Turk.

"Oh yes, Romania," Hungary looked at him suspiciously now, "You sensed something – some _one_ …didn't you?"

Romania let out an exasperated sigh. "This Magyar just had to soak me in the pool when I was nicely dressed and dried earlier – "

"Seriously, I want to help," Hungary frowned.

"Oh, so you don't want to prance over to Austria anytime soon?"

"As much as I want to find him, I can't!" She crossed her arms and said through gritted teeth, "You and Turkey made it clear that I can't travel out on my own."

He and Turkey exchanged glances. They felt the need to bask in one of the rare moments of Hungary admitting defeat. She was avoiding their eyes, when Turkey spoke, "You were saying, Alex…?"

Romania carefully pulled out the yellow flier. It was slightly soaked from his jacket pocket, nevertheless the words were still readable, and he made sure the two Nations could see the big bold lettering on it.

He grinned. "Let's just say, a Polish friend of ours is right around the corner..."

* * *

Brushing past deserted streets, ruined road signs and fading paths, he reached the steps to the feeble gate of Austria's front courtyard. It used to be accompanied with a welcoming garden of flowers, well-trimmed and peering over the grand stone walls. Now, from the deteriorated gate and to the very doorstep of the broken building, crawled the fingers of branches worn-out and drooping. The trees and shrubs of what used to be an Austrian's dream were now brambles carrying dust and rot. Decomposing under the mats of dead and dying vegetation were the birds and small creatures frequent in the yard, and Switzerland could smell their decay mixed in with the combing breeze.

Austria's mansion appeared to be cracked in two, walls still standing, but the roof – not so much. Switzerland crossed the divided driveway and braved what was behind the double doors. There was debris everywhere he stepped; anyone with softer footwear would've been doomed by the dangerous splinters.

The moment he entered the empty living room he heard a scuffle. In a flash, he had his gun aimed at a hooded figure wearing goggles, gloves and a familiar belt of spray cans around their waist – one of Prussia's hooded minions.

Switzerland noted the youth's yellow spray-painted hoody, and arms heralding surrender. The Alpine reluctantly lowered his rifle. "Gilbert Beilschmidt sent me here," he started gently. "And I think I've seen you before..." He recalled the three hooded boys he and Belgium had encountered.

The youth nodded shyly, stuttering, "Okay. But m-my brother…?"

Switzerland's shoulders sagged. Prussia told him to pass the message. It was just hard to do so. "My apologies," he replied, "Your brother bravely stayed behind at the trades post northeast from here. Beilschmidt had me come here instead…for an old friend."

For a moment Switzerland thought the boy was going to run off and leave, but he seemed to steel himself, nodding stiffly. "Okay. Let's go, then."

The shaken foundations of the mansion protruded and slanted queerly underfoot. Furniture was scattered in pieces wherever he turned, shards of glass crinkled under every footstep, and carpets and curtains were torn to rags. Beautiful intricate patterns and embellishments of what-used-to-be were marred and stained. A couple of dirtied and shredded cushions remained beside what appeared to be a decomposing body.

Switzerland suddenly found it hard to remember – let alone imagine – Austria's glorious abode before this hell.

They reached an unusual hidden door to a basement. It opened to a broken staircase and a lit corridor hardwood flooring meeting white tiles. Switzerland was about to question whether it was safe to travel through, but as he descended down the underground he was taken aback by the entropy.

Austria's mansion above was divided in two, with shifted floors and battered walls. The outside was even worse. However the basement remained mostly intact, holding on to its white tiled floors and steely sides. The ceiling looked imbalance, with its metal and wooden framework prominent like vines and branches overhead.  _Or like the bones of a rotting corpse,_  Switzerland thought morbidly.

What surprised the Alpine further was the basement's design, which seemed like blend between a metal bunker and laboratory. As he followed the boy down the hallway, he flinched at the sight of bloody smears on the walls and empty rooms with cluttered materials. There was one room that had so many empty spilled beakers, syringes, and tubes scattered all over the counters and floors. Bloody fingers, hands and boot prints painted the room, as if a mad scientist had enjoyed butchering its subjects in there.

Switzerland's eyes wandered to the dried blood stained on the hallway walls again. Looking at them closely, he noticed some of the smears had an iridescent blue-green colour.

After passing by a severely shattered hallway barricaded by debris, the youth finally stopped by an open arch missing a door. Switzerland almost jumped at the sight of other faces in the particular room. A handful of young men had on similar hoodies with spray cans around their waist and goggles over their eyes, and some wore cheap filtration masks over their noses and mouths. They were all unarmed but still intimidating. The youth he had followed muttered a few words to one of them, and they exchanged nods at the Swiss Nation.

Permitted, Switzerland cautiously walked through their huddled group, and then, in the midst of the circle, he found a man in the midst of the circle he would not have recognized at first glance.

The man's dark auburn hair covered half-shut eyes that appeared to have had no sleep. The Mariazell on his hair drooped, like the lowered glasses he wore, cracked from previous ordeals. Along his waist was a belt that sheathed a sword, reminiscent of what he'd used in past battles. He was sitting hunched on his cot like an inmate waiting for freedom. Head slightly bowed and elbows on his knees, he looked like he was praying for something far out of his reach.

Switzerland took a step forward, seeing what Prussia finally meant of the one thing wrong of the Austrian Nation.

Around his feet were confusing chalked drawings and scribbles of what looked like quotes and music notes, but that was not the very thing that was deeply concerning. The Austrian's famous elegant penmanship was no longer there in the words scratched on the floor. The hand that held the chalk was the Nation's left hand. The right hand was missing, replaced by a stub wrapped in blood-stained gauss.

Switzerland swallowed hard. He tried reading the Austrian's face as he moved closer, but the other Nation wouldn't even look up. The deep set of indigo eyes were abstracted, hiding from the rest of the world underneath the shadows of exhaustion lining his face. Switzerland backed away.

The Alpine found more empty syringes scattered in the room as tainted as the one in the box he had. It felt like the whole room was a hospital, containing a hollow, drugged patient in need of a circle of guards for constant surveillance.

Switzerland hesitantly asked one of the hoodlums, "Could you leave us alone for a moment?" The boys looked at him through their dark goggle lenses and obediently emptied the room, leaving behind a heavy silence.

The quietness constricted throats, choking in thoughts and words. Austria twitched and blinked dust out of his eyes. Switzerland could only watch, frozen on the spot trying to come up with something to say – something to relight a familiarity between them.

Then at last…

Austria spoke.

"I wanted  _her_ ," he said, moving his left hand, and finally looking up. His countenance distorted. "Not you."

Switzerland did not expect the Austrian to wield his sword in a blink of an eye and lunge straight for his heart.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Izbăvitor (Romanian for 'Saviour')
> 
> Semmi sem történt köztünk! (Hungarian for 'Nothing happened between us!')


	17. The Ghost Behind the Mask

They were the eyes of a madman behind those glasses.

Switzerland could only parry the man's blade with a blunt rifle. He'd even dared to lash back at the Austrian with the butt of the gun, careful where he pointed the muzzle in case he pulled the trigger.

"You're not her," said Austria in a monotonous tone, rearranging his footwork and repositioning his blade. The Nation had his bandaged arm behind his back, as if he still had a hand there clenched in a fist. The one that held the blade was deadly steady, hypnotizing the Alpine like a snake.

Switzerland felt a bead of sweat run down his forehead. He knew he could never win against Austria in a sword fight.

Austria had always been the cunning swordsman, with experience in fencing and the classic game of sparring. Sword fighting with Austria was like fighting with France, though the Austrian had a lot more secondary intentions and feints compared to the parries of the French Nation.

"Riposte!" Austria commanded, but Switzerland could only deflect the attack.

"No! You damn,  _sonufva_  – "

"Counter! Beat! Counter! Passata Sotto! "

"NO! NO! NO! And what?"

"Remise!"

Austria's eyes widen in rage as Switzerland continued to stubbornly deflect and parry the attacks. The more Austria challenged and commanded a counter, the more Switzerland refused.

Austria paused for a moment, mildly perturbed. He stood poised and waiting, the sword retreated to his side. He seemed to have had enough of the boring challenger to his swordplay, and Switzerland took the opportunity to take a step back and try to look past the man's blurry lenses.

"Get over here!" cried a hoodlum's muffled voice.

Switzerland did not even get a chance to turn around to question them; he was yanked by the arms and pulled backwards – he even dropped the syringe box. In a blink, Austria was already lunging forward again, blade aimed right for the bridge of his nose.

Austria cried out when the blade was intercepted once more. By a hair's breath, a heavy cell door appeared in time to stop the sword from cutting the Alpine.

The blade was trapped by the unhinged door for a second, and then it was pulled back inside slowly, possibly readying for another strike later. Austria went quiet, and Switzerland could only imagine what the Nation looked like on the other side of the wall between them. Two stocky boys held the sides of the heavy door, making sure they kept their sweaty faces clear of the center, where Austria might jab his blade.

Switzerland turned to the hoodlums with knowing eyes. Something was exchanged in silence between them, and he saw in their faces that they knew exactly what he was going to ask.

"It's from all the drugs he's been taking," said one of the youths. "He never told us what it was, and said he never will. General Beilshmidt said it'll kill us if we take it."

"One of us didn't believe him," piped another. "He tried it and died."

"Was killed. He's upstairs. That dead guy."

"Beilshmidt told us not to get rid of his sword."

"We don't trust the guy's sword."

"We never thought he'd use it on another guy. He usually used it against the mattress or the walls…or floors and stuff…"

"We always leave him alone with that thing..."

Prussia had not warned Switzerland of the Austrian's new impulses and his sword. Also there was that absurd comment he wanted him to pass on. "How did Gilbert calm him down?" Switzerland asked.

"Beilshmidt would give him a day or two."

Switzerland scowled. "We don't have a day."

"I suggested we cut off his other hand! But Beilshmidt said no."

"Oh! I remember something," smiled another. "Beilshmidt gave him that thing! It's a stupid thing though. But I'll go get it!" The youth left their circle and disappeared into one of the rooms in the hallway.

Switzerland regarded the others with a wary eye. They were lost boys, with the oldest appearing to be in his mid-twenties, and the youngest looked like he was only thirteen. These were Prussia's sole sane survivors under dark yellow-painted hoodies, faces behind masks and lenses, skins covered in dirt and grime, and bones and muscles still able to fulfill their souls' athletic desires, leaping over fences and rubble. Austria had transferred none of his madness to these young soldiers. Switzerland believed the only madness the Austrian had on them was the persistence to follow a Prussian leader.

"…Let me get this straight," he began, "He built a laboratory in his basement, most likely experimented with volunteers, all to create a drug, you say? From the many beakers…and damned syringes, he used many people…"

One of the boys holding back the cell door added, "He didn't just use a handful of volunteers. Beilshmidt mentioned once that he used his own scientists and researchers after he ran out. Germans, Italians, French guys, Englishmen...He hired a lot of guys."

"He's like a mad doctor!" commented one of the younger ones.

Switzerland gritted his teeth. He had the burning urge to open the heavy door between him and the Austrian and punch the man's face to pieces.

"So how do you know Beilshmidt and this other guy?" asked a boy behind him.

When he turned around to face the youth, his eyes widened at the sight of a cheap, plastic toy piano in his hands. "Old…friends…" Switzerland replied, dumbfounded. "You're giving him  _that_? A toy piano?"

It was even coloured in pastel pinks, purples and blues, decorated with flowers and a sun sticker. Switzerland wondered if it even had any batteries left.

"Beilshmidt told us to find an instrument of any kind that still works," said the boy, holding up the toy that's in terrible contrast with the grim, subfoscous atmosphere under the dim light. "We managed to find this one, but I think its battery's dying though. It plays really badly."

"We laughed at it a lot," chortled another child. "I saw Beilshmidt give this to him before when he had a tantrum. It calmed him down."

 _The toy only has an octave, and how the hell does this single pathetic little piece of shit calm a madman down?_  Switzerland wondered.

Then he suddenly realized, the toy had a deeper meaning. His face softened, and the boy who held it could tell by his open hands that he was volunteering to go back inside the Austrian's prison.

"He might kill you!" "I wouldn't want to go in there." "Don't shoot him!" "Are you sure?" "Just get him inside and we'll just tell Beilshmidt whatever happens." "You could've done it…"

Switzerland paid them no heed as he held the toy and opened the barricading wall. Gun slung behind his back, he re-entered the prison, defenseless to a blade in the heart.

He set foot pass the archway and heard the door shut behind him.

An uneasy silence followed.

He found Austria standing stiffly facing one of the far corners of the room. The bandages wrapping his missing right hand was bright red and dripping, and it appeared to have been unraveled and frayed again. His left hand held no sword.

Switzerland found the sword a pace away from the man, lying by the bed with blood on its tip. The box of the syringe was opened, beside it was a shattered cylinder and a needle in pieces.

The toy was an instrument, like the cheese and the ribbon. Switzerland took cautious step after step. The instrument, the wine, the cheese, the spray can, the velvet ribbon, the sketchbook. No matter how small, they were reminders of the past and what used to be.

The Alpine Nation loomed over the sword and the empty syringe box, and placed the piano beside it. Crossing his legs, he took a seat, keeping both eyes up at the Austrian whose back was turned to everything outside the corner he faced.

Switzerland waited.

A drop of blood from the bandaged arm fell to the ground, and his voice trailed with it in a murmur.

"I give you permission to shoot me," Austria droned. "After all…it's just you and me now. I do not expect an ounce of forgiveness..."

Switzerland cleared his throat, hoping to make the man turn to him, to make him see the instrument he had in front of him.

"Austria," he said slowly, "I am unarmed and as defenseless as you." When Austria did not turn around he added, "Prussia told me to tell you that…ugh…And I quote, 'to eat shit and that he's going to get your ex-wife.'…" Switzerland hoped the tasteless joke would lighten the mood, or at least make the man turn around.

Austria didn't even flinch. Not even from the mention of 'her'.

Switzerland's patience was wearing thin. "I'm sorry, but was that supposed to mean anything? Or did I just waste my time passing that on? I know you're not yourself at the moment, but can you at least look at me?"

Silence answered.

Switzerland groaned. He looked at the little piano before him and pressed a key.

_Priiing!_

No surprise, the note sounded terrible and it didn't even hold for a second. There was an expiring battery inside, and by the sound of the terrible tuning, it was pointless to play even the shortest songs he knew.

This was a toy.

Frustrated, Switzerland jabbed another gloved finger at another key, then another, and another in no particular harmony. Engrossed by the pathetic tunes resounding in the room, he forgot to look back up at Austria, who was now looming over him.

Austria's eyebrows scrunched. "What are you doing?" he asked, bemused.

"…playing Chopin…" He pressed more keys.

"You insult me."

Switzerland wondered if the bespectacled man was looking at the blade, or at the piano in front of him.

Then all of a sudden, Austria moved, reaching for his sword.

Switzerland held his breath, bracing himself for the inevitable swift death, forcibly resisting the urge to pull out his rifle. He shut his eyes, preferring the darkness in a moment like this. Since the Calamity struck, he had always been blinded.

He could hear Austria's blade touch the floor. A ringing sound of steel. A shuffling.

A moment passed.

Switzerland opened his eyes and found the Austrian kneeling before him, with sword in his belt.

Austria gave him a weak smile. "I could've killed you…" he murmured.

"I had my doubts." Switzerland let out a long silent exhale. "But I had faith in you." He returned the smile with his own. "Besides…I figured your attack was friendly fire."

Under the dimness, Austria blinked. For a second, behind the light reflected on the glasses, Switzerland could see the familiar Nation again.

"Concerning Prussia's absurd message," Austria began, "He wants me to tell you everything, from altered digestive systems, to immunities and experiments, and to the cruel irony of a faded Nation still caring for someone as pathetic as the tunes of this piano…"

"Those boys back there told me you killed many lives, including your scientists and researchers. I'm guessing this is true, and that my scientists were here."

Austria blinked again. "Of course."

* * *

" _'I would totally appreciate the company! I'll prepare a seriously cool truck by the border for you and I'm, like totally, looking forward to meeting your people.'_

"Signed, Feliks Łukasiewicz," Romania grinned.

The letter was written in loose leaf paper, signed with a signature and decorated with some swirls and curlicues. Romania's deliveryman had already mistaken it for a girl's love letter to him. It was even written with a pink ballpoint pen. How Poland had managed to survive with a pink pen and paper, he would never know. But when the opportunity arrives, he would definitely ask Poland for a pink gelled-pen.

"Bravo, Poland, you continue to impress me with your amazing handwriting." He was delighted to know the Polish Nation-being was just frolicking around the northern border of his country with one of his patrolmen. Romania neatly folded the page and found all eyes around the table, staring at him.

He had gathered his leading patrolmen to the table, and even Cosmin joined in to listen. They were seated in the central hub of the hollow cave, under the seeping light of the moon above. The central clearing was almost a short watchtower, where it can see the surrounding three to four levels of hollow home structures attached to the cavern walls and torch-lit tunnel mouths leading to rooms. Curious people outside his little gathered group observed from afar, peering over their wooden plank balconies; some went on with their business, caring for children, packing things in crates.

If one was to stand in the middle of the caves' clearing and look up, it'd be like looking up at a library with towering frameworks of houses instead of bookshelves, illuminated with small fires and candlelight, and warmed by the people scuttling about with sheets as their gentle doors. The central clearing was their community center, brightly lit by the sun in the morning, when its yellow-orange fingers would seep past the ceiling, and romantically lit by small torches and candles at night, when moonlight shone down its silvers.

Romania had called their center table a Council Table, where any families are welcomed to feast on, but when a council meeting was arranged, the people designated the Table for their Saviour and his chosen men.

The Table was made of two long picnic tables that seated twenty people in total. Romania decided to place a single chair in one end, closest to a wall, for him to sit on and regard all the seated patrollers he needed to talk to. To his left was Hungary, avoiding eye-contact with everyone around her, and Turkey sat on his right, facing her with a concerned look.

"Good news everyone," Romania exclaimed. "An old friend of mine is alive and well, up north. He is looking forward to welcoming us there in Poland. Tonight we will all rest peacefully, knowing – "

Cosmin raised a hand.

"Yes, Cosmin?"

"Can I stay awake tonight? I want to check all the wagons and make sure they're stuffed."

"Tonight you rest," he laughed, blinking away from the boy's little hat on his head. "I will take charge of the night watch, kiddo. Right now, I need you all well-rested for tomorrow morning. Then once we're all safe in Poland, we can really celebrate. Music, dancing, and lots of food! We cross the horizon tomorrow with a smile on our faces and our eyes looking forward to a new future!"

"Well, I like it," Turkey said warmly, starting an applause. Soon everyone was cheering and talking about how they were going to settle in Poland and what to do first. All rejoiced – except Hungary. She was the only one unfazed by the good news – Romania could tell her mind was somewhere else with the bottle cap in her fingers.

With that, Romania calmed the group. "On with our Four Divisions," he said, adjusting his gloves and rearranging a handful of written sheets in front of him. He looked through the list, with a blunt pencil. "I have agreed to the set-ups, considering family proposals and patrolmen suggestions, and I've accepted these lists and the assigned patrollers to lead them. I like it when  _everyone's_  satisfied," He chuckled.

He noticed Hungary roll her eyes away from him.

"But, my friends," he simply continued, "After thoroughly organizing them and approving them, I have made some modifications of my own." He wasn't surprised that Lanky was the first to look worried.

"I've narrowed down the number of Divisions to only three, with the First Division being the largest to move. Yes, the number is doubled, and more of you will wake up tomorrow whoever is listed under the Second Division. There will only be First, Middle and Last. And yes, the Divisions will be led by our trusted patrolmen, chosen by your initial listings...except the First Division."

Lanky tilted his head. "But, Sir…?"

"My name was written down in here to lead the first group tomorrow morning." Romania lifted the page. "However, I am giving this position to someone else, while I accompany the Final Patrollers in the Last Division we've established."

Turkey, like the rest of his audience – except an uninterested Hungarian Nation – were baffled by this new development.

Romania placed the sheet in front of him, and with his left hand he made a pair of odd-looking reading glasses appear and wore them. With a pencil in his right hand, he scribbled a name on the sheet.

As he was busy exaggerating the 'X' on his name, Lanky raised a question. "Sir? We will follow your new modifications, but…we'd hoped you'd lead us in the First D'vision to introduce us to d' company waitin' for us…"

"Don't worry, my friend," Romania wrote the name down, and neatly placed the pencil on the paper. "This person will know what to do. We don't need to inform our Polish friend up there of any changes. In fact, he'd welcome us, all the same." He folded his hands in front of him, leaving the loony glasses on his face. "If you trust me, you can trust my instantaneous decision."

His people looked concerned, and even disappointed.

Romania took off the silly glasses. "Now let's put a smile on our faces, men."

The men reluctantly exchanged glances, all wondering who replaced his position to lead. Cosmin impatiently asked, "Who's leading us tomorrow, Izbăvitor?"

Romania took a moment to stare at the listings he had modified. It was all because of a new task in his secret agenda. From the very beginning, there was a single task: to find other Nation-beings to entrust to his people, and help him move them to the safe zone. He had fulfilled it.

Unfortunately he didn't expect the haunting outcome. Since the train wreck yesterday he knew he had to perform another disappearing act.  _And that is for later to think about,_  he thought. For now, he gave the reigns of his countrymen to…

"Miss Elizaveta Hédeváry," he stated. "The First Division will be delivered, and led by Miss Elizaveta Hédeváry."

He looked to Hungary, who suddenly flinched from the mention of her name and role, breaking away from her reverie. She stopped twirling the bottle cap in her fingers.

At that moment, there was suddenly a bombardment of back-and-forth comments over Turkey's head around the table, patrolmen raised their chatter with comments like: "We don't know her!" "How can we trust her?" "If he trusts her, I trust her." "Yeah but she doesn't look like she can be trusted!" "Let's just trust him on this." "I'd rather trust one o' our guys." "She looks harmless though." "She's got to lead the biggest division!" "Why'd he do this?"

Romania regarded Hungary for an answer. Suddenly he realized he was really seeing her for the first time in ages; her fingers wrapping around the bottle cap, a tuft of hair rolling off from behind her ear, her lips thinning to a straight line until she was biting her lower lip, her eyes avoiding his' and curiously looking up at the people's doubts.

 _What was I thinking? Was this a bad idea?_ Romania gulped, absently staring at her. _But she's the right one for the job._ He raised his hands to command, "Gentlemen, please! I thought you all trust me?"

All of a sudden, Hungary stood up.

Everyone went silent.

Romania froze.

Her green eyes locked on his own, and they were unreadable. "May I say something?" she asked.

Romania stammered, "ugh – no – yeah! Yeah. Go right ahead. We're listening." He hastily folded his arms and twiddled his thumbs, turning away from Hungary's gaze.

Hungary turned to face the two tables with a voice loud and clear. "Honestly, I think this was a rash decision," she said. "Then again, I think it's kind of him to give me this task. But I think under the circumstances, trust is not the one thing we're all afraid of. It is Nature; what's outside and what we  _can't_  help.

"In any way, I am willing to fight for what  _can be_ , because you know in the end, it is not only about trust, it's about faith."

She glanced down at her closed hand where a bottle cap lay waiting to see light again. "Without faith, you're forever in a hole you cannot climb out…"

Turkey stood up, saying, "She's right, you know."

For a moment, Romania was at a loss for words, but then he stood up as well. "My decision is final. For the last time, can I trust all of you on this, and can you trust  _me_ , on this?"

Out of the patrolmen, Lanky was once again, the first to stand and speak. "I remember what you said, 'Keep to prayer.' I'll give them my faith, and –"

"I trust izbăvitor, forever!" Cosmin praised, jumping up from his seat.

And then, agreements followed as everyone stood up around the table like a wave of relief. Turkey even started another applause.

Romania exhaled, feeling a burden lift off his shoulders. "Meeting's adjourned then," he said, hitting a gloved fist on the table.

Romania would've chosen Turkey for the job, but he had decided the Turk would be best for helping the second and last division. That, and one other reason…

Something about Turkey was bothering him that night.

Hours before their Council Meeting was held, Turkey and Hungary had arrived in the caves. After a quick tour, the Turk had proven himself a good, interested man. Turkey was compassionate towards the people, and he even dared to fool around with the patrollers and prance around with the kids. Nothing political. However, Romania did not see a Turkish Nation healed – he saw a man changed. Romania grew even more suspicious when Turkey refused any medical attention.

Hungary on the other hand, was reserved the whole day from lunch to dinner, and she'd behaved like a shy tourist, afraid of interacting with the blend of humble people around her, Hungarians and Romanians alike. At least she'd accepted their hospitality politely, and even wore the clothes they'd offered her – except a traditional headdress Gabi had offered, which was actually a headscarf for weddings.

For the most part, Hungary didn't appear annoyed or irritated. Under her stoic visage, she only seemed tired. Romania could've told her about the important position prior the meeting, but he had hoped she'd still agree to help anyway. He'd made a gamble, and he was glad it all turned out to be in his favour. Truly, he'd had so many gambles with Hungary – it had always been a game between them.

With the meeting over, and the listings settled, everyone filed out of the Table to go on with their business. Some of the patrollers left for a midnight snack, others went off to check on things before the move tomorrow. Hungary turned her heel for one of the cave tunnels where a little figure was waiting for her. Romania needed to talk to Turkey about something, but first he needed to deal with –

"Erzi, wait!" Romania called.

Hungary stood frozen when he joined her. She looked mortified, and hissed at him. "What did you call me?"

By the look on her face she did  _not_  want to bring up a childhood memory at that moment. "Ugh…Liz?"

"You said you'd never call me that again."

"I –"

"And don't call me, Liz. Only Prussia's allowed to call me –"

"Right. I just thought it'd be nice to – " She raised an eyebrow at him, and now he just felt so awkward.  _Great._  "Nevermind. Ugh…Okay, I'd like to say thank you for – "

"You're an idiot to trust me, by the way."

"Well, for your information,  _Mircea_ 's my middle name."

They didn't notice Turkey join in with a skip in his step.

"It suits you," Hungary sneered, crossing her arms. "Mircea the village idiot."

Romania smirked. "Is that supposed to insult me?"

Turkey mumbled, "I thought Dragoş was your middle name?"

Ignoring the Turk, Hungary glowered at the Romanian. "What do you want? If this is about the role, I had a feeling you were going to give me something like it. I did agree to help out."

"Yes, you did." Romania he held out a hand.

Hungary had this look that would always make him feel uncomfortable. He was offering her a handshake, and she reluctantly shook it; maybe because of the curious stares of some people.

"I know you're not doing this for me," Romania told her, drawing his hand away with a faint smile, "But I still appreciate it."

"…You've got nice people here," she said hesitantly, "and a really nice place. Good job." And with that, she hurried for one of the cave tunnels without turning back. Romania noticed Nadia escorting her away.

The fanged-Nation was left completely dumbstruck. "You know, I was looking for a 'Your welcome,' or a ' _Shutup_ ,  _don'tmentionit, neverspeakofthisagain,_ ' kind of reply." Romania kicked the dirt. "But  _noOOOo!_  Give a compliment instead? Actually shake my hand? Urrrgh! That unpredictable woman – ugh! Just – urrrgh!" He headed for the opposite direction, brushing past Turkey.

Meanwhile Turkey shrugged to himself. "What about a 'Hey, how are you, Sadık?' 'Oh yeah I'm fine. Thank you for noticin'…"

Romania cleared his throat. He was waiting for the Turk a couple of strides away. "I hope I'm not interrupting your deep conversation there, Sadık," he said with a look of amusement, "But may I speak with you…?"

Candle fires were slowly snuffed out for the night as it was past the hour of vespertide. Children were tucked into humble cot beds, mothers were closing their doors to sleep, and fathers were finishing up putting crates of belongings on the wheel wagons, which sat by one of the north exits for the coming dawn. Patrollers had dispersed, a handful were outside for a short watch, and the rest were sleeping.

Romania led Turkey through one of the large grottos. For the dimunitive size of the torches, they illuminated the space very well. Through the tunnel, there were a couple of hollowed-out rooms where patrol weapons lay and a pair of patrollers guarded.

There was a large cross placed in the wall in between the two storage rooms, and it wasn't the only cross Romania had placed in these caves the moment they were built. There were smaller ones hanging on tunnel posts – all to keep sanity in check and madness outside the walls, as they were one of the little treasures of what used to be. It'd helped so far, alongside candlelight.

"So…what did you mean by 'For the last time' with the trust thing?" Turkey broke into his musing. They were inside one of the weapons room, and Romania had absently been staring at a shelf of pistols and crates.

"Oh, that?" Romania waved a hand. " _Pffft!_ You remember  _that_ , out of the long meeting?" He pulled out a crate from one of the shelves labelled 'Magazines'.

"It seemed relevant to me," said the Turk. "I don't know if you just said it outta random, or if it was supposed t' stay in people's minds…"

"Don't worry about it, Turk." The Romanian opened the crate in his hands, finding six magazines left inside the box. He pouted, remembering his patrollers had loaded their guns for the big move.  _But they had only left me with this many bullets?_

"Alex, you know when people say 'last time', somethin's up."

Romania paused, sensing the Nation's heart beating irregularly nearby. He turned to face the Turk who's been glaring at him the whole time. There  _was_  something wrong.

Romania was not surprised with the puzzlement in the eyes behind the mask. It was when the Turk's eyes darted away, that the Romanian knew he had to say something between them.

"Turkey, I do not want to confuse you anymore," Romania confessed, "I just have a task that I must fulfill which is my own business. I think you already know what it is. You have your  _own_ business…to take care of."  _I wonder if you can feel it,_ he silently added.

Turkey paled. "You're not comin' with us…because you're goin' after the bad guys…"

Romania shrugged. "Think of it as, I'd like to see stakes through them - and I don't mean the meaty stuff." He tossed Turkey a pistol and a knife. "Sadly, you're not invited."

"I know, I know," sighed the Turk, tying the weapons around his belt. "You've already given me a different job to do, and I think I know why…" He took off the mask he'd worn for so long and wiped the beads of sweat on his face. "I know why…" he said, rubbing his side.

Romania could see the sleepless nights and the hollow eyes of the man he had used to despise for many years.

"Well, I'm not gonna try and stop you from doin' it, 'cause I'd do the same no matter what," winked the older Nation. "I didn't think you'd be that stupid, but I guess that's just you. Mircea the magic man."

"Dressed in pink!" Romania jested, finding a knife to use.

"I'm just wonderin' how the hell yer gonna defend yourself against those goons."

"I'm thinking faerie dust and elixirs." He picked two handguns from another shelf. "Or I can just knock on their door and say trick –" he raised one gun and loaded it with a magazine, "or treat." He did the same with the other. These two pistols weren't exactly like the  _Draculae_  pair he had before, which were quieter and lighter in comparison.

Turkey chuckled, and found a long knife for himself. "...I think it's nice that you still believe Hungary and I about Mol –"

"You know I don't," snapped the Romanian, "and I don't think I ever will."

Turkey's smile faded. "Oh…"

Romania was about to leave the weapons storage when the Turk stopped him.

"Then, I think it's about time to make somethin' from that feeling," said the Turk. "I noticed you don't have a Merry Cemetery around here."

Romania's eyes blurred. He reached for Turkey's shoulder with a feeling of dread, and when he placed a hand on him, he was crestfallen. A numbing realization had cut deep in his heart.

"Don't worry about it, Romania…" Turkey said sadly with a knowing look.

_But._

_There_ was _something wrong._

* * *

The plane soared over deserted buildings, ruined roads, and devastating sinkholes. They were cruising over Hungarian territory for the past few hours under eerie daylight.

Prussia had left his young soldiers behind to travel north to the trades market, find one of their brothers, and head further north to the very tips of Germany's coastlines. The boys eagerly agreed and left on foot with their food supplies. Prussia had told them to stay together, and that he would reunite with them when they reach Germany in a two or three weeks

"Also if you encounter this guy…" Prussia had given them a photo of his blue-eyed brother. "Let him know about me, and tell him where you'll be meeting up with me. He's my brother and he'll keep you safe. I know you will find him out there…"

Switzerland had wondered if the young group would survive the journey without him, but the Prussian's reply to him was a nod and an uncertain smile.  _The boys were awesome and German,_ Prussia had reassured, _if anything Germany would find them_.

Before the lift off, they had watched the boys disappear in course for north.

That was a few hours ago.

So far, flying over Hungary and searching for a single person proved to be a difficult task. Prussia had insisted they do not land the plane, nor drive any lower to the ground. The aircraft was travelling mid-altitude over some clouds, but far enough to be minutely heard and seen. If any lurkers below would want to follow their plane, they would eventually get frustrated because Prussia strategically flew fast and in a random pattern of loops.

Switzerland lost count of where they were on Hungary, because the last time he'd peered over the window, he thought he saw a landmark three times for the past hour. Yet somehow, Prussia kept track of how much ground they'd already covered.

"A quarter left of ground to fly over!" Prussia announced. "This is getting annoying doing the circling thing, but I think we're getting close to finding her!"

They were flying along the borderline of Eastern Europe, when Prussia had said that. Well wherever they were, the Alpine trusted him and cooperated. Although, Switzerland wasn't sure about the man he used to call friend, tied up in ropes, on his knees with his head bowed before him.

Austria could not sit or squeeze himself anywhere else but in the leg room of the passenger seat. Prussia had no room in the pilot seat with all the controls. Switzerland had no choice but agree to Austria sitting in front of him, so long as the Austrian was tied up and quiet.

Fortunately he'd been quiet since the lift off. Austria never brought with him the toy piano, nor any of the syringes. Even though he wasn't armed with his sword – it was tucked in with the other supplies in the storage compartment along with the food – Switzerland couldn't help but hold a rifle steady as he faced the unpredictable man.

Austria suddenly shifted and strained his neck to peer through the window. It was the first move he made since they had left his mansion behind.

Switzerland grunted. "Did you know there are cannibals in Hungary now?"

Austria did not answer. He looked away from the skies and went back to kneeling again.

"I think you destroyed many people's humanity," murmured the Alpine.

Austria did not look up, but he finally spoke, "I was but a mere fraction of the cause…"

Switzerland hovered the rifle's muzzle over the Austrian's skull. "Do not tempt me to pull this trigger, Roderich."

Austria breathed, his back lifted, and descended in a slow moving trance. The hums and the rattles of the plane's rickety engine were the only sounds that followed until he spoke again, "I pride over my deceptive trait…"

"You selfish, pampered, little ass!" Switzerland said through gritted teeth. The hand holding his rifle shook. "Your so-called  _cure_  contaminated people through the water; you stole my scientists; you harbored them and murdered them; you affected other countries with your stupid experiment; AND you committed unnecessary mass murder for that fucking needle to the thigh!"

Austria made no reply.

"You took a really bad route to surviving this hell. You know what other countries did? We did what we  _can_ do! We made bunkers, hideouts, stored food, and we did NOT have to eliminate lives for it! You just HAD to do the stupid thing possible and attempt a selfish piece of shit, and you  _know_  what that cost you?"

No reply.

"Yeah. Do you know what ALL OF THAT cost you?"

"Don't," Austria growled. "Don't you dare say it."

"All of that cost you  _Hungary_ , you selfish bastarrgh – !" Austria launched himself at him for a bone crushing head butt. Switzerland shoved him back with his rifle in time.

"She loves me!" Austria barred his teeth like a snarling dog. "She loves me! You will never understand my love for her, Vash! I endured this FOR HER! Sure, other countries took their own simple pathetic measures to survive, but I...? No."

The Austrian laughed. "No, no, no! I took a challenging piece of music and played it – a harder measure for greater chances of survival. I did not gamble like you did!

"Yes, I've orchestrated a song that had many low chords, but believe it or not, she, and I, and even Prussia are still alive thanks to my work. And with this song I have yet to play its highest note – !" Switzerland's fist hit his jaw cutting off his sentence.

"Keep talking and I'll shoot you!" Switzerland shoved him forward again, sending him back on his knees.

"Fool!" spat the Austrian Nation. "You will not get anything back but mild satisfaction! Admit it, Vash Zwingli, as Nation-beings, you know we do whatever it takes to survive and live for our people even if it means sacrifices! You should know. I believe Hungary's alive out there waiting for me. I saved her. But you..." Austria shot a look at the ribbon tied around the Alpine's wrist. "I know  _you_  lost  _her_ …"

Switzerland went speechless.

"Truly I tell you, Zwingli, I did not intend the Immunity to contaminate the rivers or anywhere else outside my perimeters. I did not mean to turn our worlds into a mental asylum.  _Nature_  took the reign. If you're blaming me, you are only blaming a man who wanted to survive the hard way. Look in the mirror, Vash. I had saved who I wanted to save, no matter the cost, no matter the burden, no matter the lives. But did  _you_  save –?" Another punch was delivered by the Alpine. Austria relented, yelling, "SO DID YOU?"

"SHUT UP!"

"WHERE IS SHE?" Austria launched forward again –

_BLAM!_

Switzerland's breathing quickened, and he stared from the Austrian's bewildered expression to the finger he used to pull the trigger.

The man's glasses had fallen off his face, the bullet hole was a hand away from his heart, and the Nation's blood was oozing from it, frightening the Alpine Nation.

He had just shot Austria…

* * *

It was a quiet evening, a cool space before the early hours of dawn. A madrugada, he would call it, as he watched the sunlight's gentle caress under the blanket of darkness. Romania refused to sleep, and so did Turkey for a little while. They'd spent the entire night watching over the caves. Romania had let his night patrollers sleep since he took charge.

On the very top of one of the highest peaks of the Cluj Mountains over the caves, Romania stood wearing a gas mask. It was a hideaway from the world below, where he and Turkey had spent the last few hours of their night watch. When the wee hours of morning arrived, he was by himself; Turkey had left for a nap.

Romania had been counting the hours…

The mask over his face hid a shadow of a tear. Carried along in the breeze were familiar heartbeats in short rhythms beating far away from him, and he was watching over them.

Sunrise tore through the horizon, waking up activity below. He could already see a couple of wagons pull out of the cave's north exit. He could hear wheels turning, sense people stirring, and even Hungary actively roaming around one of the posts, feeling very much alive and awake to perform her task.

Romania wanted to wish good luck to the First Division, but he lingered on the mountain top a little longer, beguiled by the crosses erected before him.

It was all Turkey's idea.

He knelt down, placed an unlit candle under each cross, and buried a matchbox nearby so he could light the candles later. He did not know when he would return to this place, but he knew, somehow, he was going to climb back to the very tip of this mountain and light these wicks.

His eyes passed an old friend's name...

_'For the King of Yoghurts,' he wrote. 'He was a cool guy, until he went crazy…'_

A brother's name...

_"'For the little brother...a silly child who never wore the pants I gave him, until he forgot all about me…'" Romania finished, putting the little hat above the name on the cross. Turkey had convinced Romania to let it go, and Cosmin didn't mind after they'd asked him for it._

His eyes landed on the third cross with a Nation-being's name written on it.

"How long have you known," he said to no one in particular, "that there  _was_  something wrong…?"

With a faint smile on his face, he climbed down to join his people. He smiled for the humble Merry Cemetery, made to be a small reminder of the past. He smiled for the lives that were parting from him, to brave the horizon and meet a new future. And he smiled to keep a mask over his face, like the Turk who held on to one for so long.

When he neared the bottom of the Cluj mountain to head inside the caves, he halted. He could faintly hear his people north from where he stood, but that was not what made Romania stop dead in his tracks. He could hear something else. He scanned the trees and surveyed at the skies. Something unfamiliar was approaching the caves. He pulled out his handgun.

Remained motionless.

There was something flying past the trees.

It was a ball of fire and metal, falling from the grey tendrils of clouds. Where it was going to land, would ignite a flame, a little too close for lurking hunters, and a little too close to the hidden caves.

It was an aircraft.

* * *

"Oh my god," Switzerland panicked, picking up Austria's glasses with a trembling hand.

Austria's jaw dropped, and they were both staring dead straight at each other, completely shaken.

"What the fuuuuuuuuuck?" Prussia's voice sounded muffled over by the rattling aircraft. "Are you two done making love back there?" They knew he heard the gunshot, but they still ignored him.

"I – I shot you…" Switzerland stuttered in disbelief.

"…I believe so," Austria said quietly. He calmly kneeled back to his usual pose, looking disoriented, but not in pain.

Switzerland loosened his grip on his rifle. He had only meant to threaten the Austrian, not physically wound him – except with the punches.

They could hear Prussia on the other side, muttering, "Who did who to who? Oh, shit! I think we'll be experiencing unawesome turbulence!"

Switzerland and Austria remained in a shattered puzzle. Torn by blame and anger, confused by their hurtful actions. An apology needed to mend them, and if Austria would not do it, Switzerland would. He had had enough of the fight.

"I didn't mean to," said the Alpine, feeling deflated. "I'm…I'm sorry."

"No..." Austria lifted his head up. "My apologies…The fault is mine…I'm the one to ask for forgiveness, Vash…"

"We make mistakes, Austria..."

"Somehow, for our kind, our mistakes…are as extreme as the choices we take." The Austrian Nation smiled slowly, closing his eyes as a tear roll down his cheek. "I was expecting this bullet anyway…"

Switzerland noticed the man's wound had stopped bleeding, and he felt the need to ask, "Are you going to heal from this?"

"Not because of the Immunity," chuckled the Austrian. "I am still a Nation, so I'll heal as one respectively, even though my diet and principles have changed…I'm still a Nation..."

"No." Switzerland shook his head, and returned Austria's glasses to him, neatly placing it back on the man. "I mean, are you going to heal from  _this_?" He was hoping for the less obvious answer, and Austria knew.

They both smiled at each other as old friends.

"What the hell?" They heard Prussia complain in the pilot's seat. "Guys, we got a stupid leak in the fuel tank! Did someone shot the fuel tank?"

Switzerland blinked at the rifle in his hand. Austria narrowed his eyes at him.

The plane lurched and rumbled.

"AH SHIT! Buckle up you dipsticks we're taking a nose dive!"

Austria was the closest to the wall dividing them from the pilot. "Where are we landing?" he asked, loud enough for the Prussian to hear on the other end.

"Far East! NO JOKE!" Prussia sounded like he was laughing as the plane started to spiral.

Austria had no seatbelt on, and he was already being tossed. The man had already lost consciousness. Using the only Swiss knife he had, Switzerland cut the ropes binding the Austrian's wrists. He had to drop his rifle to hang on to the Austrian.

The aircraft's wingtips ignited. Smoke trailed behind them, Prussia had managed to pull out the plane's wheels for a less fatal landing. Switzerland felt the plane's tail dip, as Prussia held on.

"SHIT!" sputtered the Prussian.

Ground met the wheels so suddenly, Switzerland felt his body jump, air was knocked right out of his lungs.

"I think we're crashing in Romania! HOLY FU – "

Water met windshield.

Blackened trees peeled off metal and wings.

Smoke and fire greeted their senses. Then with a resounding boom, Switzerland felt the plane hit water, and to his very fear, the murky depths started filling up his seat. He released Austria's limp body so he could cut his seatbelt off. The windshield of the plane was broken. Water was already half-way up his chest.

Austria coughed and choked, but at least he was keeping his head up the water. "Switz –"

The pilot's seat was burning. Prussia was missing.

"Switzerland?" Austria coughed out, keeping himself afloat.

The Alpine was stuck. Water was crushing his lungs, fire was licking his skin, and metal was bringing him down. The seatbelt held on to him like Death's hand. "I'm here, Austri –!" he broke off, as the water reached over his head and into his lungs.

Time seemed to have slowed down…

He could count the bubbles passing through his lips as he watched firelight dim on the water's surface. In the corner of his eye, a beautiful velvet ribbon floated right past him and it drifted up to the lights above.

He saw it, and he reached for it for the last time.

But a huge oblong-shaped shadow covered all the lights, and then, he could no longer see.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "King of Yoghurts" (Referring to Bulgaria; In Hima's comics, he's the King of Yoghurts apparently?)
> 
> "Erzi, wait!" Romania called. (I'm still hanging on to that childhood memory for... a later chapter...)
> 
> Merry Cemetery (Also known as the 'Cimitirul Vesel' . In Romania it's located in the village of Săpânța, Maramureş. It has beautifully decorated blue crosses, with funny phrases written on them.)


	18. You go, I stay

_"Good people are like candles; they burn themselves up to give others light." - Turkish Proverb (11th Century)_

* * *

It was her again, calling his name in a faint whisper.  _"Switzerland…Switzerland…"_

He cried out for the name of the girl he'd yearned for, but water cascaded down his lungs, sinking him in the abyss.

_Liechtenstein…_

His heart ached when she smiled at him. Her fingers felt so real when she held him, her touch, so cold on his cheeks. Then suddenly, he was looking into the eyes of the Belgian Nation he'd left behind.

 _"Your story's not over…"_  said her lips, reaching for his forehead and kissing it.

His face stung and his chest heaved, gripped by water. His limbs felt so heavy underneath the mass of his own clothes. Mud clung on to him as he felt dragged out of Death's hand and into the blinding white light.

Two figures lifted him out of the water and propped him up to sit against stone. He coughed and coughed until he was retching, and it took him a moment to finally breathe himself.

"Okay, take care of the other one," he heard Prussia's voice faintly. "Gimme a sec..."

Switzerland opened his eyes in time to see someone he'd never seen before.  _Another one of Prussia's hoodlums?_ he wondered. The hooded figure left his side and scuttled to another body by the riverbank.

Switzerland jumped to his feet, gasping at the sight of the stranger crouching beside Austria who was lying on his back by the riverbed. Beside them appeared to be a small boat. Austria's chest rose and fell, and Switzerland silently thanked a Nation's healing capabilities for that.

Meanwhile Prussia was pacing back and forth, swearing something in German with Austria's sword around his belt. He was looking at the fire licking the riverbank where pieces of his precious plane left their mark. Flames filled the air around the burning metal of the German aircraft. Fog faintly grew above the water's surface to try and hide a sunset mess in an eerie grey.

The scene brought up a memory of a burning bunker that turned a sketchbook to ashes. Switzerland looked away and instead, observed the little figure.

The stranger appeared to be harmless, wearing a black tattered scarf looped around the neck forming a hood, hiding a part of the face of a youth. For a moment, Switzerland could not tell if the stranger was a little boy or a girl with the large faded green jacket, but by the loose shirt, unusual striped pants and dark boots, the figure looked like young boy.

Like Prussia's hoodlums, he was a quick nimble child, scurrying from his boat to Austria's side.

"Thank you," Austria muttered, after the boy wiped his face with a damp blanket.

Switzerland was about to approach them when Prussia stopped him midstride.

"Found our rifles," he said, holding up the familiar weapons. The German was drenched from hair to boot, blood dripped down his forehead from a slowly healing wound. "We lost a lot of our stuff though."

"Like food," Switzerland grumbled, taking his rifle. He fished in his pockets for anything else he'd lost and discovered the Swiss army knife Netherlands had given him was gone.  _Damnit,_  he cursed silently. He looked at his wrist and felt a stab of dread in his heart. "Oh no," he quaked. He lost her –

"Ah, don't worry about the kid," Prussia told him, regarding the hooded boy by the boat. "He saved us. I think he's okay. He wouldn't let me near him though. Didn't even tell me his name. Don't shoot him or anything. I'm going to see if I can find any more of our stuff. Keep a close eye on Austria – "

"WAIT! Please find my purple ribbon!" A desperate tone slipped Switzerland's tongue before he could hold it back. "I mean, it's important to me and –"

"Yeah, yeah, yeah." The Prussian was already wading in the water once more. "Don't worry, I'm gonna look around. Shit, this river's boilin'…"

Afraid he'd lost it forever in water and fire, Switzerland anxiously searched around the riverbank for his string of velvet.

Hearing footsteps come up to him, he turned around wildly with a rifle in hand aimed to shoot. And damn, he didn't mean to aim it at the boy who quickly backed away in fright recoiling his hand. The boy seemed like he'd wanted to give him something.

Switzerland noticed the glint of a dagger around his belt and a pale grey-purple eye in the shadow of his hood.

"Sorry, I – I wasn't gonna shoot – " Switzerland gently slung his rifle behind his back and raised his arms. "I was just looking for something important. It's silly but…it's important to me. Have you seen a purple ribbon? It belonged to my sister..."

The boy looked at him funny, his head tilting to the side.

"Err...I – I swear – I won't hurt you…"

But the boy turned and ran.

"No!" Switzerland chased after him. "I'm a friend!"

The hoodlum bounded past Austria and leaped into his boat, kicking it into the river.

"Stop!"

Switzerland would not let the child go that easily. He was already running into the water, straining his voice.

"WAIT! I said I won't hurt you – we don't even know your name –"

"Get away from me!" The boy unsheathed the dagger from his belt and waved it in front of him.

"You helped us!" Switzerland swam close enough to the hull to cling onto the boat's edge. "You can't just leave - !"

"Let go!" yelped the boy, stumbling backwards as the Alpine held on to the bow.

"But – "

Suddenly the child wielded a spear with the other hand. "I said BACK OFF!" he barked, his tone fiercely commanding for a youth. "I also have a gun!"

It was a little naïve for the boy to declare something like that, but the Alpine understood.

The spear was tipped with sharp bone, tied together by string and sinew – and what appeared to be bits of red and white muscle of some sort. Oddly primitive.

The boy loomed over him with an aura of a man, casting darkness over the Alpine. Light behind the hood rimmed his young features ever so softly, enough to show clenched teeth and a glistening white eye beside a grey-purple. Switzerland had seen that eye condition before. The boy was half-blind, and yet somehow he could move fast with ease – a result of training or new heightened instinct, no doubt.

Switzerland reluctantly let go, and returned to the riverbank, never taking his eyes off the boy. He watched the child drop his spear and fish something out of his pocket.

"Here!" the boy called, tossing him a rock with a piece of string tied to it.

Switzerland caught it and he felt his heart skip a beat. What he thought was string, was actually his beloved purple velvet. He untied it from the rock and looped it around his wrist feeling a sense of comfort again.

When he looked up, the child had already started the boat's sputtering motor. Farther and farther away he drifted in silence, floating down the stream into the fog like a ghost.

Switzerland sped through the mud and blackened trees. A wave of regret rushed in him for letting go of the child. He wondered why he even did it.

He should've held on. He should've reasoned with him.

He kept close to the river to keep view of the boat before it truly disappeared. Stumbling over his own feet, he fell and scraped his knees, and he swore to the skies when he could no longer see the trail of the little saviour.

He was about to wipe his face with a muddy hand when he stopped and saw a horrifying object in front of him.

A bleeding head of a man impaled on a stick was crying out in silent agony, and only Death heard it scream. Its eyes were bulging with red tears, and its jaw was so loose it dangled by the shreds of flesh, clinging on to its cheeks. Bits of bone and muscle were scattered below the spear that held it.

Switzerland gasped, staggering far away from the corpse' display. His boots almost stepped on a limb, torn from its owner.

He had stumbled upon an empty campground, the impaled head in its epicenter. Limbs chopped into pieces surrounded it, set aside in rancid heaps. The smell was stomach-churning with fresh blood everywhere. It was a slaughterhouse in this side of the forest, tainted red, and randomly lined with bone spears, similar to what the boy had.

 _Did the boy even had anything to do with this?_  The thought seemed possible, but the Alpine kept telling himself the boy was harmless. The boy  _seemed_  so...harmless. The boy had helped them out of the river. The boy...

_And the bone spear…_

_What if he was a distraction? What if he was involved with these killers?_ Switzerland's head spun, he felt so sick he ran to the river to retch for the second time.

For a second he was afraid he would get lost, but returning to Austria and Prussia would be no problem following the river. He wanted to run far away from this scene as quietly as possible.

Careful not to alert any bloody hunters, he wielded his rifle and silently hurried back to the Germans. He felt like he was being watched from all directions, and deep down, somehow he had a feeling that that was not far from the truth.

He kept his grip steady on the rifle and finally reached the crash site. He let out a sigh of relief when he found Austria on his feet and Prussia alert with gun in hand.

"Why the heck would you leave four-eyed madman alone?" Prussia marched up to him angrily. "I said keep an eye on him! This place creeps me out! It's not awesome. Something's up over there and I'm not sticking around. Where's the kid?"

"He ran away from me..." Switzerland said sadly, gripping his ribbon.

"What?" Prussia looked past him. "Is he coming back to help us? He had a fucking boat! We could've used it! He could've helped – "

"I didn't mean to scare him!" Switzerland suddenly felt his voice was too loud.

_The bone spears matched…_

"It's not your fault," spoke the Austrian. He had his rapier sheathed in his belt again, but he looked like he was just admiring the dying flames by his feet. "He's a lost boy now…isn't it interesting that the most striking tunes are the ones within the silence…?"

Prussia snorted. "If I hit him on the head, he'll seriously lose it," he said to the Swiss. "Come on, Edelstein, let's move. I don't like this place. It's getting foggy and I can smell blood over there." He put Austria's arm over his shoulder and started walking.

"The air does feel stranger here," Austria said curiously, "and yet the water is no different…"

"Yeah? You think so? There's a bit of the Danube here. Don't tell me you think your cure stuff touched this place..."

"And where are we going?" Switzerland queried, as Prussia and Austria entered the line of charred trees. "Gilbert, you lost your map and your plane. Are we just going to walk around Romania looking for Hun – "

"SHHHHH!" Prussia broke him off. "We are going to the mountains. We'll be fine up there."

"What about the boy?"  _He can't've been involved with that slaughter,_  Switzerland added to himself.

"That kid's got guts and a boat. He'll be fine."

"We should go find him. He'll know where to go."

"Keep your voice down."

"I am! Let's just go find the boy. He's gone the other way."

"Vash!" Prussia glared at him. "Switzerland. Okay. We can't do anything about that kid at this point. He's gone, and he's on his own. Just let the kid go, Vash. He'll be fine. We can't track anyone anywhere in this country. It's not our turf."

"But I saw an abandoned butchery back there! And it's hard to track people travelling on water!"

"Yeah I know. I found some nasty stuff back there too. Nasty and creepy shiza in the river. Bobbing heads and crap. This place is creeping me out. It's just dangerous to –"

"Cannibals…?" Austria cut in. Their eyes quickly trained on the Austrian who could barely lift his chin up. "At this time," Austria murmured, "in this world…people wring their Nation's throats until they turn blue and disintegrate to madness. Soon even I will fall victim to their vicious claws…"

"Okay, now he's gone lyrical," Prussia commented.

Switzerland gritted his teeth. "What does that have to do with the boy?"

Prussia narrowed his eyes at the Austrian, reading his thoughts. "So that really  _was_ …?"

"Indeed the Moldavian Nation." Austria sighed. "It's unfortunate he ran away. He could've been useful…"

"We have guns!" Switzerland refrained from yelling, but he really wanted to scream at the two Germans. "We can go look for him. He's one of us and only a child!"

"I know that Vash," Prussia hissed, "but we can't go looking for him!"

"Why not? He needs our help! There are cannibals out – "

"How do you know where he - "

"There are cannibals!"

Austria was about to interject when a sudden noise made them jump.

Footsteps surrounded them, shadowy figures emerged from the dimness, revealing weapons and masks into the light.

Switzerland and Prussia readied their weapons, Austria sluggishly unsheathed his blade at a larger figure hastily approaching them from the shadows of the trees.

"Oh my  _Allah_ …" The Turk Nation's jaw dropped.

" _Gottverdamt,_  Sadık, I was gonna shoot!" Prussia grinned, lowering his weapon.

Switzerland rarely saw Turkey without his white mask, and in the days that he did reveal his gentle green eyes, there was usually an important reason behind it.

Comfortable enough with the other faces around them, Prussia welcomed the Turk gladly with a slap on the back and a smile. Switzerland remained cautious, wary of the others watching. Turkey seemed to be in a rush.

"I'm glad you're all okay!" the Turk chuckled, shaking Switzerland's hand hastily. "Ugh…mostly okay," he added, noticing Austria carefully put away his sword with one hand.

"Where's your mask?" Switzerland asked.

"Hurry, hurry! We gotta move." Turkey's mind was someplace else. He hurried them out of the clearing, brushing past the circling figures.

Switzerland caught a glimpse of the men. They looked like coal miners and farmers, armed with guns, wearing filtration masks and curious expressions.

"I can take ya to Ro's caves!" Turkey said, briskly walking through the trees, wary of every direction as if they were being followed.

Switzerland kept pace alongside Prussia, and a disturbed Austrian who was oddly quiet about their search for Hungary.

They trailed behind Turkey with their backs guarded by one of his men, and the Nation fired information over his shoulder as quick as his pace.

"Rom – I mean – Alex is back there with his own group o' guys, checkin' out yer crash site and exploring. I think he's lookin' for a boat. Anyway, he kinda knew you three were stompin' around his turf. 'got me to look for you instead o' welcoming you himself. It's a long story. I was gonna tell you somethin', but he told me he's – argh damn it, wait a sec –"

Reaching a mountainside littered with debris, Turkey finally stopped for breath. "I – shouldn't've – " he panted, sitting on a rock, "– damnit, I shouldn't've ran – "

"Sadık, we know who took the boat," Switzerland snapped.

Turkey looked up at him, mystified. "…what?"

"There was someone else with us. A child - "

Switzerland was about to say the name when something within the green eyes of the Turk told him he already knew.

"Ahh..." Turkey closed his eyes and smiled. "He  _is_  still alive…"

* * *

"My compliments to the deliveryman," Romania grunted, prodding over a dead campfire, "the packages arrived sooner than expected…sent through Airmail."

Squinting past the trees, Romania could see the Turk's group disappear with the three new Nations he'd sensed. They did not turn to Romania's direction, but he wondered if Turkey might've waved at him.

With the Turk's help he had gathered almost all of his Last Division patrollers to the plane crash, all armed and prepared to survey the area and welcome any intruders, but it left the caves weakly guarded. As soon as he'd noticed the plane landing, he had sent an alert to the First Division, and with them, the Middle closely followed.

For Romania, the train incident was behind him, and if he could recall what Bob had informed him those many days ago, the second train – the last train – was docked and fueled at Sighetu Marmației, the meeting spot where their Polish friend awaited.

"Over here, Izbăvitor!"

Cosmin stood amongst three other patrollers over a small grey hilltop. They were a fair distance from the plane's crash site, the smoke and the scent of metal lingered in their nostrils. So far, Romania's troop had encountered an abandoned campground with trails of the blood cult.

Romania did not recognize the impaled head on the stick, which could only mean the goons were already treacherous amongst themselves. Crouching low to the ground, he wondered if they had a leader at all, an ultimate killing chief like the small groups around the Hungarian borders.

When his train had plunged into the depths, and when pistols had fired and metal went through a Nation's heart, he knew the bloody hunters were coming back for the trail of smoke and fire.

 _And so it shall be…_ he said to himself, unsettled by the silence of the morn.

The campground told him everything. The caves were minutes away, the crash site's smoke was a signal for ambush, and if the blood cults were grouped nearby and stalking, they were going to attack very, very soon.

He could feel it.

"Orders sir?" called another patroller with a shakier voice. Romania snapped out of his thoughts and skipped over to their side, feeling light on his feet.

A shadowland of grey and red would strike someone in horror, but something in Romania's heart beat excitement and thrill for a dawning fight.

The blood cults were on the move to their direction.

"Keep your guns ready men," he said, trying to hide a grin. "I think our questions are going to be answered." They didn't ask, nor did they question his sudden burst of energy to climb a large fallen branch. "Get ready!"

_The blood cults were on the move…_

His troop immediately divided behind the trees.

He spotted Cosmin following them and his heart pounded.

"Hold on. Cosmin come here!"

In a few moments the land was about to bring killers. He didn't want a boy anywhere near this fight right now. Cosmin scuttled up to him.

"I can help!"

"No need," he said, ruffling the boy's hair to a mess. "Do me a huge favour and wait for me in the caves. I will be right there after I finish taking care of things."

"What's going on, Izbăvitor?" pouted the boy.

_They're coming…_

"I'll tell you later," Romania said quickly, "Right now, you have to go. Bad guys are coming. Go to Sadık, okay? Tell him we're all leaving the caves before tonight." He nodded to one of the patrollers hiding in the shadows, and with a quick salute, they vanished to safety.

Romania looked around one more time to where his other men lay waiting, facing the same direction as he, all ready for spears and gnashing teeth. In both hands were his pistols, gripped tightly for the incoming onslaught.

It felt like déjà vu when he was perched on a tree with two guns in hand, aiming at the first wave of hunters.

_They're here…_

He smirked at the first wild-eyed one he sees, and greeted them with bullets to the head and a merciless heart.

* * *

Turkey hurriedly led them through dimly lit tunnels, past large stone halls and into a room with empty shelved crates. The room was on the second floor, closed by a curtain door, and far enough from prying ears so they could address each other with their Nation names. A large cross hung inside, facing a partially broken mirror over a small table by a cot. The boxes on the shelves weren't labelled, only upturned and haphazardly emptied.

Turkey's group of patrolmen had scattered along the way, occupying themselves with the community of people.

Switzerland noticed guard formations and family organizations patiently filing out of the caves with luggage. He had overheard the people talking about Poland and Division assignments, and from what he had gathered, Romania's surviving, orderly populace were moving out of the stone sanctuary for the north. It was impressive how Romania had even turned the Cluj caves into peaceful dwellings that lasted this long since the rapture.

But the impression only lasted for a moment. Turkey hadn't spoken to them since they told him about Moldova, and he refused to answer any of their prodding questions with the big grin on his face. Prussia and Austria didn't even insist on Hungary's whereabouts after they had brought it up to him.

The Turk peered out the doorway before finally facing them, looking like a man worn out of years hiding behind an old laugh. If he were human, Switzerland could see a grandfather to many children who left him alone to age, and yet still smiling.

"Okay..." Turkey breathed at last, "I'm glad he's okay…" His tone filled with contentment that somehow concerned the Alpine.

"If you mean Moldova," Switzerland gawked, " _alone_  and uncared for out there? It's NOT okay! You sound like you knew he's alive and yet you didn't sent out a search party?"

"...err...Romania and I had already held a funeral for Moldova and Bulgaria this morning."

"WHAT?"

"Calm down, Switzerland," the Turk said, wiping his face with a heavy hand. "Say what you want to Romania, but I'm sorry he won't believe you anymore…trust me I've tried - "

"How can you be so sure? I'd jump to the chance if someone told me that Liech –" Switzerland cut himself off. He didn't realize he was holding his gun so tightly, it felt terrifying. He immediately placed his rifle against the wall before he could lose his temper any further.

"…I'd search for my own friends too," Turkey said sadly, "but if I believe they're dead, I'd also believe they're in a better place."

"Yeah?" Prussia huffed, crossing him arms. "So if you believe they're still alive, then you'll also believe they're alive living in this hell with you. I get it. West and Moldova are survivors. I trust they'll be fine, and if I don't, then there's no hope for them."

"Don't you get it?" Switzerland chided. "You can't just ASSUME they'll be fine out there on their own!"

"SHUT UP!" Prussia shot back.

"Turkey we HAVE to tell him!"

"He won't believe you!" Turkey insisted. "The funeral helped him get over it. There's just a lot o' things he's gotta do and thinkin' about his brother and Bulgaria will just distract him! Big time."

"Why can't we just send out a small search party on our own –"

"No we can't! The number of patrollers we got are crucial! I'm part of it. Ro's got everythin' under control now, but if there's any change of plans, my Allah, he's gonna do stupid things…"

"But - " Switzerland faltered. Even though he knew they wouldn't help him, his gaze still flickered to the two Germans in the room. Prussia wore a chilling countenance, his narrow eyes were anywhere but at the Alpine. Austria on the other hand, held a half-lidded stare at the hanging cross in the room.

"…his brother…"

"I know." Turkey placed a hand on his shoulder, but he tore away from him. "Switzerland, when Bulgaria brought him to us, he didn't know who Romania was. He forgot about bein' a country. We didn't bury bodies this morning. We buried memories. Just…let the kid go. I did. Though it's killin' me. Like it's killin' me knowing my own friends are gone. At least we know Moldova's still alive."

"And for how much longer?" Switzerland gnarled.

The whole room fell silent.

And all he could do was hold on to the velvet ribbon around his wrist to keep his lips from trembling.

"Interesting…" Austria murmured. All of a sudden he walked up to the mirror reflecting the cross. "That explains it. Indeed, a lost boy forever…human."

Turkey frowned. "What?"

"Our lives change when our people change," stated the Austrian. "We are conditioned by our people. Surely you understand?"

Even though the Turk was addressed, Prussia looked away, fists clenched turning red.

The Austrian went on, wielding the rapier from his belt and admiring it along with an image of himself in the broken glass.

"I do not know how Moldova lost his memories, but if he's forgotten them terribly, then they  _are_  lost. And when something is lost or forgotten, that part of their identity is also lost. It is nothing new." Austria angled his blade to Prussia's direction, making the German flinch. "With the right foundation there  _is_  a cure…with the right words of remembrance, it may not be too late for him…unless…"

He stared at the sword. "Unless the boy has already turned," he said carefully, as if words were knives too close to the skin, "And when our kind becomes human, we gain the lifespan of one. You live a human. You die a human."

"Is there a bad thing to that life?" Prussia fumed.

Austria fixed his glasses. "I would rather die a  _Nation_  in this chaotic state than die a hum–"

A bruising  _crunch!_  to the face broke his sentence. Glasses twisted and fell, and he lay on the ground by the vanity of his blade. Blood seeped through lips and haunted his vision. A mark on his skin turned red.

" _Du Hurensohn!_ " Prussia seethed, hovering a fist over the Austrian Nation. "Okay then! We are NOT telling Ro about this! He must NEVER know about Moldova, understand? Ignorance is fucking bliss! He's better not knowing the kid's alive and in deep shit out there!"

" _Es reicht jetzt!_ " Switzerland stepped in between them, an arm raised to hold Prussia back.

"Turkey said Romania's moved on! I don't want ANY of us telling him any of this because the kid's alive and alone out there, and we fucking left him to out there to die!" Prussia's voice shook. He stood there quivering. "That can kill someone to worry about. It's better to be hopeful believing your little brother is in a better place, than suffering the idea that  _he_ is also suffering.

"That kid can live as long as he can and the best he can, no matter what." Prussia glared at Switzerland, then at the Austrian on the floor. "Even if we did find him we can't save him. There's just no fucking cure to dying no matter how much you try to make one!"

Austria kept his gaze to the ground. His stump arm raised to his chest, feeling old wounds.

"I should've been beside  _my_  little brother," Prussia spat. "You just had to get me involved!" He threw a syringe in front of the Austrian, shattering its fragile body to pieces.

Austria covered his eyes as droplets of Immunity spilt on stone. Prussia must've been carrying it since they'd left the mansion.

"I should've been with West before all this happened, but I stayed with you because I thought you were on to something. I thought you'd made a fucking cure for everyone. But you ran out.

"You just killed enough people and STILL YOU RAN OUT – AND I WILL BLAME YOU IF WEST – !"

"I SAID ENOUGH!" Switzerland yelled.

Prussia's lips thinned to a trembling line. He retreated to the cot to sit and bury his face in his hands.

Switzerland swallowed hard, allowing himself to relax a little. He picked up the Austrian to his feet and returned his glasses. He was tempted to remove the rapier from him, but seeing the other Nation hold it tightly by the hilt made him think twice.

"There was never enough…" mumbled the Austrian.

Switzerland was about to make a cold remark from that, when Austria suddenly shuddered in his hands and started sobbing. The Alpine gently placed the Nation by Prussia's side on the bed. The other German made no protest, nor did he acknowledge the Austrian in silent tears.

"Well then, I'm glad I'm not involved with this…" said Turkey, holding up an Immunity syringe in decent shape. A half amount left of the glowing curse of a cure.

"Where did you get that?" Switzerland asked in a harsh whisper.

Turkey shrugged. "I don't think this is a good time to bring up Hungary…"

Her name.

The trigger.

Austria was on his feet at once, gasping and reeling, "Where is she?"

Prussia perked up as well, his eyes as wide as plates. Tears and anger vanished from their spirits.

"You have Hungary?"

At that moment, a familiar fanged-Nation pulled aside the curtain door before Turkey could say anything.

"Welcome!" Romania grinned, entering the room with a skip in his step. "Run along, Cosmin," he called over his shoulder to someone down the hallway. "Remember to tell everyone about the bloody mess back there!"

Switzerland could hear little pitter-patter of feet fade away, and then he suddenly remembered what Prussia had told them not to say.

"What did you hear?" asked the Alpine, warily. It had hurt to lie.

The Romanian laughed. "I just got here!"

His dark purple-red overcoat had bloody patches on one shoulder, both arm sleeves were damp with blood, and around his belt loaded a couple of red smeared pistols. He looked like he had just arrived from a slaughter house with caked mud on his boots, and bloodstains on his coat, even his striped folds were dirtied. He wasn't wearing his trademark tiny hat, but he was carrying a bone spear bloodstained at the tip.

"Ahh! Good to see you Switzerland! I could use your help! You can be our Swiss Cheese! Here, you can call this 'The Neutralizer'." Waltzing up to the Alpine, he gave him the bone spear.

Switzerland scowled at the bloody stick in his hand. A grim reminder of the campground he had stumbled upon.

"We're going to light it up later," chirped Romania, snapping his fingers and turning a heel to face the others, "kinda like a sparkler!"

For someone who looked injured with blood on him, he appeared to be in a merry mood.

"Oh!" He mocked a bow in front of Prussia and Austria standing by the cot. "You two look well, more or less...

"And  _hellooo_ , my Prussian Prince! Lookin' a little tense there? You know, I could use your strong meaty muscles for my Last Army –" he gently slapped the other Nation's shoulder. "Ha, ha! Talk about a German  _Army_. You can provide the punch to the party, if you know what I mean." Switzerland noticed Romania sling a rifle around his back – it was Prussia's.

"And let's not forget the Blade – " Romania swept past the German, and all of a sudden, flourished Austria's sword in deft hands, " – of Mister Cravat! Sounds kinda catchy. What do you think, Turk?" Romania glinted a sharp-toothed smirk at the Turk beside him, posing with Austria's weapon as if it were his own. Prussia and Austria looked stunned.

"Not bad." Turkey mused, then he mumbled to Switzerland about his codename being Wild Turkey.

Switzerland couldn't believe they would even joke around at a time like this. There was simply nothing to laugh about after all that had just happened. The other Germans weren't entertained, only mildly irritated for being swiped.

Sensing the heat radiating in the awkward silence, Romania clasped his hands, cleared his throat, and started out the curtain door. He quickly returned with a loaded crate in hand and Prussia's rifle gone.

"Right, enough with the happy tears," he said briskly, "I know you're all glad to see me. Welcome to my humble hotel in Transylvania,  _mi casa sou casa, blah, blah, blah_ …" He opened the crate using Austria's rapier and pulled out a surprising content of candles, strings, matches, old-fashioned red and black dynamites, and an unusual black bag. Switzerland let out a sigh of relief from the sight of the decimators even with its outdated technology, but he still felt unsure of the Romanian with the plan.

"Alright gentlemen," Romania chuckled, pointing Austria's blade to the ground to draw on the dirt by his feet, starting with swirls and loops for a map.

"We are going to start interior decorating this place with candles and cherries!" With a flick of the wrist, Romania presented them a cherry bomb. "Call me old-fashioned, but this is for the best. I'll explain later. It's going to be my latest magic trick. As for this – " he pointed the rapier at the black bag tied by a golden rope, " – is part of the magic trick for good omen. It's been a while since I'd last casted a spell for some victory and I think it's about time I – "

"Where is she?"

Three words from Austria's tight lips consumed the place in a discomforting silence.

Switzerland felt the air in the room turn dense once more. Her subject was finally brought to light and Romania stiffened.

Time froze.

Austria's light whisper turned bitter. " _Ich weiß, dass sie noch lebt_ …" His gaze rose from the floor and locked right into the Nation who stole his rapier. "Where. Is. She?"

Romania fixed his collar. "After this comed–"

"WHERE IS SHE?" Austria lunged for Romania's throat only to be barred by the Prussian beside him, yelling, "Romania! Just tell us where Hungary is!"

Romania hesitated, and when he took in a deep breath, Switzerland could tell what he was going to say next. No wonder he'd taken away their weapons.

He gulped. "She's not here anymore."

* * *

_"In three days tops they'll be safe in Poland? And you're takin' the train back here?"_

_"According to the patrol reports and the plan, yes," replied Hungary. She folded the list of instructions Romania had given her last night, and tucked it in the sling bag which also contained an iron frying pan. The silly fanged-nation did not provide her with any weapons but a couple of frying pans. Then again, that was enough._

_"Poland's a lot closer than I thought," she said happily to the Turk. "If I hurry I can lead them to Baia Mare before night and find Poland the next day. If we don't stop, it'll take us two days. The last train will be waiting for us over there to make a return trip for your division." She smiled wistfully, tossing the bottle cap in the air with a snap of her fingers, and catching it in her palm. The sight of the Paulener Salvatore's logo lifted her spirits._

_"Poland will help me, Sadık…"_

_A little girl's voice started a song over the sound of wooden wheels and trudging feet. Slowly other voices followed, singing a melody of bittersweet hope. The song flowed from the very first person in the line to the very last, until it reached Hungary and Turkey by the mouth of the cave._

_Hungary was pulled by the strings of the song drifting down the hill to her ears like an enchantment and a white ghost in a dream. Suddenly she felt she'd lingered too long by the caves._

If that Romanian's not going to see me off, well good riddance!  _Hungary thought bitterly. The fanged-nation did not show up to say goodbye to his First Division. Perhaps they did not need good luck twice before departure. Hungary scowled._  Still. He could've at least shown up for the patrol or for Nadia - urggh! That idiot!

_She was about to bolt forward to lead her line of people, when Turkey grabbed her hand and pulled her into a tight embrace, curling his fingers in her hair and smothering her in his scent. She could feel his heart beating in his chest, sounding like the march of people over the hillside. How odd it was, a song of many beats she didn't know._

_"So you do wanna leave for Austria when you reach Poland?" Turkey's voice sounded muffled over her. "But I just want you to know somethin' Hungary…" When he pulled her away, she found his red scarf wrapped around her neck._

_Hungary opened her mouth to object but his calloused hands cupped her face, making her close her eyes. She could feel his gentle fingers attach something along her brow line and cheeks. When she finally looked up, she realize the green eyes gazing down on her had given her one of his most precious treasures._

_"…I will miss you," he said with a faint smile._

_Hungary was confused – something in the man's countenance hid a mystery. A secret…_

_"Turkey?" She drew back, seeing him without his familiar items._

_"Your mask?_  And  _your scarf? Turkey, no! You don't have to give me anything! A big bear hug is enough! What's wrong with you? This is too much!" She started unravelling the scarf from her neck._  Why all this?

_"Hey, hey, hey," chuckled the Turk. "Don't return my presents now. That ain't nice. I just gave 'em to you, if ye hadn't noticed…"_

_"But these are yours! Strictly yours! You can't just give them to me!"_

_"I'm givin' them to you 'cause I want you to come back here…I want you to return to this country and…come back for me. Now hurry up before your troop's too far for you to catch up over there."_

_Hungary could not possibly leave without providing her own gift to him now._

_"I can't believe you're pulling me back here with these." She fished out her syringe that held a tiny dose of her precious Immunity. She had told Turkey about this once, but he'd refused to get involved in it. She placed it in one of his jacket pockets._

_"For you, from me," she firmly stated._

_"I don't want it."_

_"I don't care if you use it or not –"_

_"I'm not gonna."_

_"Yes, well…just hold on to it for me. It'll be another reason I will come back here for you. I know you have to stay but I – I'll," she held back a tear, and wrung the tips of the scarf in her hands, "I'll punch that idiot for making you stay here and separating us!" She hugged the Turk one more time before leaving him for the line of people past the horizon._

_Heart pounding in her chest, she thundered past families and patrolmen, past wagons and curious faces, past charred trees and blurs without turning back for a goodbye. She refused to say any form of farewell. In a prayer she promised herself she would return for Turkey. She would return to him with his mask and scarf. There was no need to say farewell._

_When she reached the very front of the line of the division, she crumpled in the dust and tore off the Turk's mask from her face, wiping away beads of sweat and tears. She could feel her mouth quivering to sob._

_"Miss?"_

_She turned around and saw Nadia, one of Romania's favourite orphaned children. Behind her were men and women looking genuinely concerned._

_The Hungarian Nation took in a deep breath, stood up and brushed herself off of ash and dirt. With reluctant hands, she placed the mask over her eyes and wrapped Turkey's scarf around her neck. She glanced back at them one more time before leading them forward. Within moments, Cluj-Napoca disappeared behind them, and so did the plane that had landed too late and too far for the Hungarian it had been searching for._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gottverdamt (German for: "Goddamnit")
> 
> Du Hurensohn! (German for: "You sonuvabitch")
> 
> Es reicht jetzt! (German for: "Stop it!")
> 
> Ich weiß, dass sie noch lebt… (German for: "I know she's alive...")
> 
> Paulener Salvatore (German beer from Munich)


	19. Ruse In Fire

Combustible wires roped along every cavern corridor. The Romanian Nation was winded from the run through, bounding through the mouths and the winding walls. Heat pounded in his chest as every breath made his lungs ache. He ran too fast and leaped too far, pouring attention to every corner, placing flammable detonator after detonator. Cord after cord, light after light, and candle after candle.

Finally, he returned to the epicenter of the emptied Cluj caverns. He made sure his community had safely evacuated. He reached the central table where he'd once held staff meetings, and after several coughing fits and beads of sweat rolling down his face, he regained enough strength in his leg muscles to casually approach the one person he'd hoped would not finish his duties before him.

Austria was the only one who had finished his task first, mostly because Romania hadn't given him a lot to do in the short amount of time. Plus, he did not trust Austria's state of mind for the time being. Romania still had the German's sword sheathed around his belt, just in case Hungary's ex would try to impale him.

Before the Romanian distributed instructions to help with the explosive placements, Austria had already tried lunging for his throat a few times. Understandable, since the news of Hungary alive and already gone for Poland had reached him a little too late for what could've been an interesting reunion.

Prussia had made sure Austria at least helped with the Romanian's near impossible evacuation. So with an ounce of sanity left in the man behind the glasses, he  _had_  get up to finish the job he was given; supervising the families leaving and tending to the epicenter.

The Austrian scowled when Romania walked closer to the table. Turkey was dealing with the last few bomb placements in one end of the caves, Switzerland was placing a series igniter at the roost where Romania had assigned him to, and finally Prussia was outside checking with the remaining patrollers guarding the southern mouth of the caves.

Romania had ran solo through most of the errands, as he knew he would ever since he thought of his project. He had interlaced most of his flammable wires around the wooden frame structures, riddled stone corners and holes with explosives, and finally scuffed out hallways and hallways of torches and candles. The only lit passages were the two main halls: the southern-most tunnel, where he planned to lure the insane bloodcults, and the narrowest tunnel on the north, where his Nation group could escape.

Romania kept his eyes on the fuming Austrian as he took a far away seat from him. After a while panting, he couldn't help but grin at the grumpy man. Under the dim light peeking through the holes of the cavern ceiling, Romania could see the man's face distorted in anger.

Somehow he wondered if he should keep smiling at the broken glasses glaring at him. He cleared his throat.

"So..." he started slowly, "I see you are...shaking."

"I am famished and restrained from killing you," Austria said bitterly. His voice cut through the silent hum of the Cluj home like a blade slicing stone. "You are fortunate to have my sword. Otherwise...well...you know the rest."

Romania cleared his throat again. "Okay...I just thought the shaking and the insanity are a couple of cannibalistic symptoms..."

Austria grumbled. "...Well, you're not wrong. Aside from staying alive without food or fresh air, the Immunity amplifies impulses. Other side effects may occur, such as sleepwalking, numbness, tastelessness and...Irrationality to an extent. It works terribly on humans. It kills them...It bloodies them..."

Romania shivered, remembering Hungary had sleepwalked and Bulgaria had noticed. "So then..." He was almost afraid to ask, but curiosity bested him. "What does Prussia feed you?"

Austria crackled and Romania suddenly felt smaller compared to the German Nation behind those lenses.

"Animals, of course," said the Austrian, smirking to conceal an oft-repeated lie. "Revolting animals."

"Mhmm." Romania nodded slowly, shifting in his seat.

"I have tested the Immunity upon myself before, and had used it a dozen of times after the glorious rapture," Austria went on, examining his right stump of a wrist, bandaged and bloodstained. "You know...you're lucky to be alive. Lucky to be content with these filthy caves. Lucky to have my sword...

"And lucky to have some of your golden treasures intact. Unlike you and your...people, I was picky." Austria smiled darkly. "And too cheap to spend another token on...other things."

"Ya?" Romania pursed his lips. "Oh don't you care too much," he retorted, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "Save yourself first and don't worry about everyone else. They didn't cost you an ounce of grief. Really they were just a pound of flesh. Except Hun - "

"I care about her more than you'll ever - ! "

"If you  _did_  you shouldn't have dragged her people into your shit!" He recalled Serbia and Bulgaria in mind. Their rivers were tainted.

"I've already admitted my mistakes!"

"Played the wrong key, piano man?"

Austria lunged for him. Within the space of a blink, he was immediately in front of the Romanian, his hand stretched for the Nation's neck, but he stopped cold, paralyzed by the sight of his reflection on his own blade. Romania had managed to unsheathe it before Austria could come any close.

"You're fast," Romania taunted, slowly waving the blade in front of the Austrian, like a torch to repel the darkness away. "Mole Man, I do not think you're in your right mind since the Calamity started."

Austria glowered at him. "How dare - "

"Hey, don't kick his ass! That's my job!" Prussia's voice sounded through the halls, and Romania stood, keeping his blade to Austria's face.

Prussia arrived with Switzerland, both with rifles in hand. The Prussian was granted his, even after a short tantrum he'd thrown upon learning of Hungary's departure. For some reason, Romania had a grain of trust in the white-haired Nation.

Turkey followed with a few of his patrollers including -  _oh great_. Cosmin was wearing a filtration mask over his face attempting a disguise under the bangs of his hair.

"We did what you told us," the Swiss Nation said. "Are you sure this is going to work? Have you tried your explosives before?"

Ignoring the questions, Romania lowered his weapon and whirled to the side, catching Austria preparing for another lunge in his peripherals. Prussia caught the Austrian's shoulder as Romania kept the blade and strode over to Cosmin, who slunk guiltily behind one of the oblivious patrollers.

The boy gasped when Romania's hand found his wrist and pulled him aside. "You're not supposed to be here, Cosmin!" he hissed. "You were not assigned in this patrol! You're not ready to face the bad guys!"

"I'm brave!" Cosmin protested, his words muffled through the mask. "I want to help you, Izbăvitor ! I want to stay here - "

"NO!" Romania deadpanned, careless of the volume of his voice. "Follow orders, Cosmin! You have to get out of here!"

The boy's eyes fell to his boots, and his shoulders shuddered violently as his tears fogged up his mask.

Dropping the sword with a clatter, Romania knelt before him and gently lifted the boy's mask, brushing the tears away from the child's wet cheeks. Cosmin fought it for a moment, but the tenderness was comforting.

"I'm sorry, I..." the Nation trembled, "I'm just a little stressed out right now. I'm sorry. I know I'm sending you all away suddenly...it's just...not safe here right now. Plans change..." Romania smiled weakly. "Remember you're one of the big boys to help out the Last Division. So look after them for me, please?"

Cosmin looked at him gravely. "But what about you?"

Romania grinned. He showed the boy a little black bag, tied in gold hanging on to the thick, double-gun belt around his hips.

"Oh trust me, I'll be fine."

* * *

It was the first time in ages since she had last seen a plant. For weeks Hungary had crossed barren wastelands of grey with no signs of life and prayer. She was used to seeing pale corpses and naked obsidian trees. Coming from train wrecked rivers and villages, she had seen a fair share of littered debris and tainted waters.

Nearing Poland's edge passing Ukraine, she encountered a shred of weeds. What corrupted lawns and overtook gardens impressively survived in the airs of destruction around these parts. Faded in colour by the ash and radiation, it was still a hopeful sight to see amidst a piece of land. Hungary was tempted to rip it out of its roots and carry it to the nearest body of water, but if this little thing had prevailed without, then it was best to leave it be.

Her Division had just finished packing up from their camp in Baia Mare and were already moving. It was nearing dawn, and as Hungary had expected from their pace, they would be greeted by Poland in a few hours. If her Nation friend was near, they would be welcomed soon.

A few pairs of eyes glanced at her as she regarded the plant by her feet. She hadn't done a head count since they had left the caves, and it was already the second day. The group had never stopped walking since, as if the only way to stop their beating hearts were to finally rest by the borders. Children slept on wagons, parents and patrollers took turns pulling them onward, and Hungary, along with an armed handful, kept a close eye around the perimeter in case of hunters.

She should do a head count. Romania had told her to do a head count every so often, but that was impossible to do with a group so large carrying over a hundred people. After a stupid recollection of his joke on counting Counts, she had forgotten to do that part of her job, aside from its impossibilities.

As the Division crawled closer to the Ukrainian and Polish borders, Hungary finally stopped herself to just  _attempt_  a head count. Perhaps Romania had just called it that, but she figured it was more of a  _'guesstimation'_  of a mass...

As she skimmed her eyes over the people from a height, her stomach lurched, reminding her when she had last eaten. She had probably skipped a few meals already, but for some strange reason, she hadn't felt it. Weird.

Nation-beings had similar nerves and urges to that of their people eating in regular cycles, and during droughts or famine, they felt just as hungry, so like man they carry a diet of one. Hungary hadn't had eaten or thirsted for days and that was strange.

She was frightened to think it was because of the new changes from the Immunity, and she wondered what else the substance would do to her. The scarf around her neck felt warm under her breath, as paranoia set in. She looked around and refocused on her head counting.

 _The Immunity can wait_ , she thought under her mask.

She recalled the size of the groups from yesterday as they walked on. She was probably imagining it, but the size of the Division had doubled before her eyes. Maybe it was her hunger, maybe it was -

_What in a world...?_

She spotted Nadia and the old woman, Gabi, amidst the crowd, and on the end of the line she noticed...new faces. She swore from a flash of memory that the Middle Division's assigned patrollers were among them.

Keeping composure and pulling out Romania's list, she briskly approached the patrolmen. They appeared to be a few strides apart from the lot of her line, and when she neared them, she noticed from a distance a whole marching community behind them. She cursed herself for being so clueless of this until now. As she had dreaded, it  _was_  the Second Division.

They been tailing her group all this time and finally managed to catch up to them.  _Had they even stopped since Baia Mare? Istenem, what was Romania_ thinking _?_

"What's the meaning of this?" she asked, unaware of the irritation seeping into her voice.

"Oh, hullo Miss," greeted Lanky, one of the patrollers Romania had nicknamed.

"I thought you were ordered to join us later? Why wasn't my patrol notified?" Hungary had no time for the fear twisting in her stomach.

"Oh. Um. Yeh, there had been, ugh," the patroller stammered. "Last minute changes. Um, we was goin' to send our reports today. We just got 'ere, and you err, saw us before we could do it."

"Is Rom - ahem - is Anghelescu here?"

"No," the man shook his head. "He's sent us this early to follow ya. Says he's stayin' at Cluj a little longer with some others. Um. There was an evacuatin', see, 'nd we don't know what happened. Didn't tell 's much. Secret agenda y'know? Got more patrollers on the back if y' really wan' to talk to 'em?"

Hungary thanked him quickly, but before she could run for the end of his Division to question the other patrollers, a whistle rang through the crowd ahead.

That was a patrol's signal to stop.

Her heart raced, and she whipped around full circle to face her mass of people. Wagons and people halted, rippling from the front to the end of the line reaching her. Someone had arrested the community from up ahead, and a patroller had called for her.

Hungary bolted for them, praying whatever made the line stop wasn't too serious. Her mind whirled with thoughts of the miles they had trekked, calculating distances and ruined landmarks in her head to recall how much further they were from Sighetu Marmației, Poland's closest meeting place. As she ran past the families, a murmuring gradually rose from the group. Nothing but the whistle sounded alarming to her.

She snaked through the crowd, reaching the patrollers at the front. Every brush of a shoulder was like worming through a ditch. She strained her neck to see over the heads in the way, and when she caught sight of familiar bright gold hair, she couldn't help but grin.

Talking to one of her patrollers was one of her old best friends. He wore a faded pink tank top under a russet brown jacket, and pale blue jeans hugged his legs to match black leather heeled boots. Behind him was a dented, pick-up truck, hastily splashed in pink. There was a small group by the truck, clad in leather and heavily armed - she found they bore a striking resemblance to a boy band.

Hungary found tears pricking her eyes at the sight of the familiar Nation who still managed to show off a fashion statement even at this time.

"...and then I was like, yeah sure I'll totally welcome them!" Poland chuckled, confusing one of her patrollers from the extra flair in his sentence. "I made a super cool party just to seriously welcome them! Like we were totally good friends - "

"Poland?"

Hungary's lips slipped as she finally emerged from the crowd blinking back tears beneath her mask. Poland squinted at her for a moment confused. Hungary remembered what she was wearing and she peeled it off her face before wiping away her emotions.

"I...I mean," she stumbled for words through trembling lips. "It's been a while I've seen you. And what I meant to say was...have we reached...?"

A wide smile spread across the face of her old friend. Blue eyes twinkled at hers with the same tearful gladness and relief.

"Yes! Well, no Poland," he beamed, "I was just like, too excited to wait, so we drove over here! Sighetu's a hop skip and jump, Lizzy!"

They couldn't help but suddenly run up and hug each other in a burst of giggles.

_My dear old friend..._

* * *

The child's embrace lingered around the Nation for a while, before Romania finally pulled away.

Cosmin reminded Switzerland of the child with the boat and the memories so lost as he was. Prussia told them never to tell the Romanian, and Turkey had agreed, even Austria quieted, but Switzerland remained angered by the omission. No matter how many pleading glances he shot Prussia, the albino Nation glared back at him murderously. How long the Alpine could keep his mouth shut about it, he didn't know. It felt like a terrible deceitful thing to do, like resisting a hope for the Romanian Nation. Switzerland felt like a traitor keeping the secret.

" _Copilule, îƫ_ _i mai spun o dată!"_  cried the boy, smiling and waving back at Romania before scuttling away with the last of the patrollers into the cavern exit left lit.

"Don't be afraid of the dragons in the forest..." the Alpine heard Prussia say - he could translate the language after he'd learned it many centuries ago when his Prussian Kings had ruled the land.

The German was clutching Austria's shoulder, wary of any sudden fits of madness. Austria had moments when he was mindful and well-composed, like his old self in harmony with a world that used-to-be. But then there were moments when he would suddenly explode in anger and frustration, reopening wounds and lashing out.

He wasn't the only one suffering an internal burden. Switzerland had noticed Turkey also had momentary relapses to exhaustion as they were doing their tasks, and the Turk kept evading questions about his health.

Aside from Prussia and Romania, who at least outwardly appeared healthy, the Alpine feared their chances winning a fight with a number of armed cannibals were slim. Their guns would run out of bullets against a horde, so perhaps an explosive cave was their only hope against the primeval malice outside their doorstep.

Romania suddenly pulled Turkey aside for a quick word, turning their backs on the Germans. They tried to keep their voices low, yet they barely put any effort into it.

"Yeah, we finished what you told us to do," Turkey said nervously, watching the last patroller reluctantly vanish down the exit. "But are  _you_  sure you wanted the Last Division Patrol gone?"

"Yeah. It's a little nuance I have in my plan," Romania said briskly. "They'll understand, I'm sure. We'll be fine without them. We're Nations, Turk, we're like cats. We have nine lives..."

"You know they did not like your decision."

"...I know."

"You turned them away."

"This is Plan B Version 2."

"A stupid plan, yeh," Turkey's voice was sharp. "What was Plan A?"

"...it didn't include you guys. But will you please go with the last patrollers now?"

"No."

"Are you positively-certainly- _indubitably_...?"

"I will be fine!" Turkey exclaimed. "I'll be fine like you! Stop worryin'. I can do this. You're bein' stupid."

"Okay. I'm gonna be keeping an eye on you."

"You're bein' stupid," Turkey repeated.

Switzerland couldn't help but approach them with curiosity.

"So now we're wasting time?" The Alpine interjected, eyeing them suspiciously.

"Right, right!" Romania nodded quickly and gestured to the directions of their posts. "Swiss Alps, you head back to the watch tower. Mister Awesome and Austere - " he glanced at Austria for a moment.

The man was transfixed by something on the floor and he wasn't going to look up at him. Romania reluctantly held out the rapier's hilt to Prussia instead.

"You both know what to do here," he reminded. "Whatever happens, deal with it and leave on our cue. Turkey will signal you when a barrage arrives. Fight well and escape. I need either of you two to get out of this alive, or  _both_! Both is good. Hah, ha! You know a particular Nation will seriously  _slay_  me if you guys don't survive this." Prussia gave him a wry smile and didn't say anything.

Turning his heel, Romania brushed past the Turk. "Let's move, Wild Turkey," he finished, disappearing into one of the tunnels before he could hear Turkey's loud sigh of exasperation.

" _My Allah_ , if I die from runnin' at least I'll have this dramatic pose..." The Turk's chuckles followed him down the dimly lit path.

Switzerland was a few strides away from the other Germans already, about to run to his designated perch, when he suddenly felt inspired to turn back and wish them both luck.

Prussia moved, taking Austria's left wrist and gently closing his friend's fingers around his rapier again. "Once we're done here, we'll find her."

"Why am I still trusted with this...?" Austria spoke so softly, Switzerland could hardly make out his words.

"Because we're all idiots in this hell," Prussia remarked, as his friend held the rapier tightly, as if clinging onto a rope for dear life. The Prussian held his own rifle steady, bracing for an incoming onslaught.

"And we're about to get a bombardment of more stupid idiots from all directions. So let's just do this shit and get it over with. Fight like the Nation you were before. Fight as one, die as one."

At that, Switzerland's lips twitched to a smile. Hearing Austria chuckle an agreement finally spurred the Alpine to run for his own post. His task was to start a light for the blood cults into the caves.

_Fight as one, die as one._

* * *

"It's really cool that Alex trusts you Lizzy! I'd totally never would've thought so!"

Evening had already set in, covering the skies with indigo blues. Camping with friendly faces meant little bonfires and food. Families and guards clustered around warm pots of boiling stews and roasted potatoes just a step within the Polish border. Hungary sat cross-legged beside her old friend with worries to bear, but she concealed it behind a smile and Turkey's mask.

"He never told me you were going to be like, seriously escorting his people and stuff like that..."

Poland went on about how he was so impressed by her newfound relationship with Romania, and how he was  _so stoked_  for a community movement to the West, and how he'd managed to rally his  _'boy band'_  group to help out with Romania's families - their reward being a generous supply of new food and wares, of course.

Hungary listened patiently to her Polish friend, entertained by his gossip. When the Divisions settled down, they were cautious, but when Poland assured protection and Hungary approved, they relaxed with the Poland's crew.

Firearms were never exchanged, only new food and companionship. It was almost a surreal dream to Hungary, seeing families exchange handshakes and fearing destruction of weapons all together. The Polish group had appeared intimidating to her at first, being branded with leather jackets and stern faces. But their knees bent to greet children and their hands shook those of her patrolmen and women, nodding, bowing, even offering seats by the fire. Perhaps it was the food and blankets the Romanians generously shared, or the pity, or the prayer, or perhaps it was just a deep human understanding of the state they were in - a  _togetherness_  united by the grim world.

Moments like these strummed the hearts of Nation-beings, and Hungary couldn't help but well up with emotion. Her people had lost to nature, but at least, that evil hadn't clawed all souls.

A blended scent of Polish food and cabbage stew wafted in the air as vegetables were warmed. Hungary's stomach turned from the aroma, her mouth didn't water, and she didn't she crave it. She tried to remember if she had even eaten at the Cluj caves. Though she was offered food, her distracted mind brought back memories of ignoring and disregarding sustenance.

Poland was feasting on cabbages, carrots and potatoes beside her, munching away with mumbled words she could hardly understand. When he did speak clearly, he kept on about Romania being a  _'super cool guy'_...

"Like, seriously! It's really cute he's given you a job like this. Totally getting along, aren't you? So you guys are like a team now? With Turkey and stuff? Wait was Romania totally jealous of my letter? I used a pink pen for it! Cool huh? So tell me more stuff, like what's up with you two, and how you got along, like, it's so unexpected, total surprises recently, like you and Denny and stuff like this - "

"What?" Hungary perked from a mention of the nickname. "Did you say Denmark?"

Poland blinked at her, and then suddenly stuffed his mouth with a piece of bread before licking his fingers. Hungary glared at him chewing until he finally cowed into swallow his food.

"Okay, like, I was seriously avoiding the subject, Lizzy," he groaned, examining his pink painted nails. "It's a total downer."

Hungary gave him a moment to sigh and asked, "What happened?"

Reluctantly, Poland told her about encountering the Danish Nation and Sealand. They had told him news about encountering other Nations like Netherlands and Belgium. Denmark and Sealand survived some hunters, but the others hadn't. Eventually finding Poland, they shared news of Nation-beings heading to America for settlement. The two Nordics had been searching for their brother Nations, and before they left him, Sealand told him Lithuania and his friends were safe in the west.

"They said guys like Germany, France, Russia and his sisters and...yes, Lithuania and the Baltics, were waiting for us there..." Poland said, keeping his voice low as he packed his bag.

"If Germany's alive...do you think Prussia's...?" Hungary's heart leapt. She could take Romania's people to America. As far as America. Germany was there. Maybe Prussia...Austria...

"Lizzy, I don't want to burst your bubble or anything. But I'd stick to some plans first and like,  _finally_  go there." Poland doused their campfire and led her through the clumps of sleeping families. She followed quietly, her mind sifting through escape plans and risks.

The night skies were already turning towards the dawn of the third day and Hungary did not want to delay her stay here when she was told to return to Romania as soon as possible to fetch the rest.

However, the  _rest_  of the Division she was supposed to escort one last time had already arrived. Technically, she no longer had any more duties, and Romania was probably assuming she'd gladly stay in Poland or venture elsewhere at this point. He did say she was freed from any more tasks once the move was over. His Middle Division's set of patrollers confirmed her dismissal when she had spoken to them for any more assignments - they were still trying to piece out the reasons behind the speedy evacuation.

Poland's pink truck stood in the midst of the whole camp, light painting it with hues of the sunrise from the waking sun. Children were tucked in to sleep and parents were too exhausted to get up. Poland's leather-jacket crew strolled along the perimeters quietly on guard like angels in dark coats. It was so breathtaking to witness the silent peacefulness, it flowered a hope in Hungary's heart.

Poland led her to the Sighetu Marmației train station, which was a little walk away from the campsite. The train was in the state of the first one Hungary remembered, and they settled in one of the open wagons to rest.

"Like, yeah, it was totally tough," Poland sighed, leaning against the train's doorway, lacing fingers on the back of his head. "But you know what, Lizzy? There will always be someone left standing, when others fall apart. Just like," he yawned, "trust those who still trust you, and seriously save them and they'll save you."

The corners of Hungary's lips curved to a smile. He was quoting an old rule she'd disregarded for a while since travelling with Romania. She had run away from her people, involving herself in Austria's endeavours, and in the brink of the end when she ran back to them, it was too late.

"Too many total downers, seriously...!"

Hungary watched Poland drift to sleep before shutting her own eyes, trying for at least a couple of hours of rest. Slumber ate her time, drowning her in a void of heedlessness as flames erupted in a mountainous maw, screaming out for her name.

* * *

Switzerland did not dare touch the detonator until Romania's signal. It was a perplexing contraption the Romanian had engineered using a single grenade with addition to a bone spear to act as a secondary lever - which he had called it the Neutralizer earlier. It connected to combustible wires linking tunnels, lined with explosives. A single pull of the Neutralizer could spark a deadly cave in.

Everything had to be careful and secure. The Alpine didn't even wear the velvet ribbon around his wrist because he knew his palms would be moving a lot during the fight, so he'd tied the ribbon around his neck. It hung on to him as secure as it had ever been.

Switzerland was roosting on a lofty frame-like watchtower which lined overlooked one of the main south entrances. It was the only one open. His rifle was loaded and ready for the incoming guests. Lights filtered below him just enough to display his targets and hide him in the shadows. He gritted his teeth.

Turkey emerged from the tunnel at high speed carrying a torch - he almost stumbled. Romania was right on his tail, a gun in each hand. Already there was a spear through his shoulder, blood printing his footsteps. Their shadows danced on the walls like maniac puppets.

"What the fuckin' hell was that Romania?" Turkey was yelling, keeping his torch held high. The bloodcults weren't in sight yet, but from the sounds of raging footfalls, they would be thundering in soon.

"What?" Romania wore a wicked grin on his face shone in the dark. He yanked the spear out with a yelp. "One of us - ow - had to lure in the sharks somehow. I could take a hit."

"Don't be stupid!"

"I'm like a running joke..."

" _My Allah_."

Guttural screams echoed down the stone walls, making Switzerland's heart pound in his ears. He kept his grip steady as Turkey and Romania made a beeline for another tunnel.

Trailing the torchlight and the Romanian's laughter was an unfamiliar group of seething people, near naked except for the tattered rags clinging on their broad shoulders and hunched backs.

They were carrying an array of crude swords, maces and spears. Some of them were even lucky enough to carry an axe, hammer, chains and butcher knives. Each piece of sharpened bone and spiny metal were crusted with blood in various stages of drying.

Switzerland was told to let in half the group, before sending a hail of bullets down on the rest. Romania never specified how many were coming, but he had estimated sixty - there were thirty who had approached them earlier when the crash was still fresh. The Last Division patrollers were here to take care of it then. Now that Romania had sent them away, slaughtering a murderous horde in a darkly lit labyrinth of dead ends, tunnels and bombs would be a bloodier ordeal.

When Switzerland thought about it, he realized this wasn't just a group of goons after Romania, it was a whole community trying to invade and settle in. He had seen this happen to his country, and he had seen the gruesome outcome over the Hungarian soil. These sick people had found Romania's sanctuary, and how many more were going to pour in the country, Switzerland dreaded to think about.

_There. That's about a half isn't it?_

He focused, and time slowed, allowing him to shoot the face of the twentieth one that entered. Without waiting to see blood spring from his victim, the Alpine moved, running along the walkways of the watchtower, and then pausing on another section to terminate a second target. He was a moving sniper along the lofty frames that glinted of red and black sticks of dynamites at each corner. He had a narrow path to run through, but he was content with the railing and the height. Eyes from below could only see a shadow and a random bullet.

The Alpine calculated his next targets quickly, snipping through their skulls before pausing to take stock. Twenty bullets gone and Switzerland let in another ten or fifteen people through the hall. They raged and roared, ignorant of their fates awaiting them in the deadly caves with the other Nations.

More entering invaders saw the fallen bodies, but they either emotionlessly leapt over them, or bent down to feast - the Alpine had to shoot those ones rather quickly, before they could bite any flesh and work themselves into a frenzy.

Dehumanization and cannibalism twisted every Nation-being's stomachs. It was a devil's work with Nature, plaguing veins of humanity and Nation-beings until they were writhing worms. Subhuman creatures. Feral. Primeval. Beasts of bloodlust and gore. Sick and feeding on their own kin. Switzerland knew such a sickness was not unknown to mankind.

Shot after shot, he counted thirty or so bodies in the way of the open cavern mouth. Scattered left, right, facedown or jaws up, warm blood oozed from their skulls. They used to be brothers, sisters, parents and children. Switzerland felt like a cold blooded murder, undeserving of honour with a Nation's name. But it had to be. He could only imagine the bullets and sword bringing down the others in the cave. Ceaseless and cold. And it had to be. Another haunting thought to add to his damned mind.

He could hear mumbles from the entrance and he could tell it was a smarter bunch with an ounce of sanity to hesitate. They were talking, huddled beneath the shadows of the tunnel in fear of the open clearing guarded by him, the invisible gunman.

"Yer gonna tell that to Poland?" Turkey's incredulous voice emanated from one of the other tunnels.

When he materialized from the darkness, Switzerland kept his rifle ready for cover fire. A part of the runners' plans were to keep communicating, talking in tunnels helped detect walls and movements. In addition to luring in their prey, it let the Alpine know who to avoid shooting. Romania even made a bad bat joke about it.

"Totally, my friend!" Romania appeared beside him. Seeing the bodies on his doorstep, he offered thumbs up for Switzerland to see. "This is seriously like a video game. It's so weird, but super cool! He'll love a good story."

Turkey grumbled. "Ugh oh. You're starting to talk like him."

Switzerland tuned out their banter and returned his attention to the other murmurs. The thumbs up were for a good job on his front, but it also meant that there were more to deal with. Lingering just a few paces away in the mouth of the cave, were scuffling of feet and snarls of jargon. They were talking in harsh tones and low voices, like snakes and growling bears.

Switzerland caught some garbled words that he clearly understood: "You killers!" "They are killers. They are." "We wanna talk to yah!" "Come over here!" "We're just hungry." "We need a place to live!" "We'll kill ya!"

Romania stepped into view, careful not to prod a body with a boot as if it might come to life. He was keeping his pistols ready as he walked up to the mouth of the tunnel sheltering the lively group. When a spear flew towards him, he neatly dodged it and retaliated with his guns sweeping over them, trigger-happy fingers eager to fire at the slightest motion in that tunnel.

"Do that again and I'll shoot," he said.

Switzerland raised a brow. He could barely recognize the Romanian without his sarcastic tone.

"Any more of you bastards coming in here?" seethed the Nation.

Switzerland could not see the group's reaction. From his perspective he could only see Romania pointing two guns at the cave. Some torchlight provided a peek of the shoes and bare feet waiting in its shadow.

Voracious gnarls and angry roars filled the tunnels as patience wore thin among the bloody invaders, but a louder screech quieted them down for a moment to speak.

"There will be more of us, yes, yes, yes," spoke a deep voice of a woman. There was a rasp in her throat that seemed like a symptom of the toxic air, but that only added to her menace. "Once we tell them of this glorious place, we  _will_  take over. Western clans, southern clans...Yes, yes. This place is good. It's glorious."

"I will not allow it." Romania said slowly, his eyes locked into the figures Switzerland couldn't see.

"Hah! But this place. This place is good. Yes. We will take over. You can't stop us. Yes." There was shuffling, and mumbled words were exchanged.

"Make a move and I WILL DAMN SHOOT YOU!"

There were expletives and hair-raising snarls that barely sounded human. "We just need a new place!" "WE WILL KILL YOU!" "Cowards use guns." "This is a good place." "WE WILL TAKE THIS PLACE." "We want to live here." "You killed our friends." "WE WILL KILL."

"QUIET!" Romania snapped. "If you'd like to stay, I'll gladly welcome you with open arms. And by  _that,_  I meant  _these_." He gestured with his pistols.

Switzerland couldn't see what was happening in the entrance tunnel, but he noticed feet moving in the dim light. He could hear a scrimmage and a rattle of weapons and bodies before -

_Oh god._

They faded into the tunnel, sucked in further into the darkness. Retreating...

Romania was quick to fire several bullets, cursing and yelling after them, Turkey's calls for him to stop were drowned in the ringing echoes of his shots.

"COME BACK HERE!" Romania screamed, approaching the dark of the cave's entrance, bullet after bullet. "No one is leaving this place to fetch any more of you - "

_Click! Click!_

"FUCK!" He hurriedly reloaded his guns, blood splotched gloves hastily replacing the bullets.

Switzerland saved his own bullets for later - they were precious. He couldn't get a clear shot of the invaders from his watchtower anyway. He hated having blind spots from the roost, even as he shifted positions, he could only catch glimpses of the debauchery in the entrance.

Romania was just being rash. As he whirled to aim for the tunnel, Turkey had marched up to him and placed a firm grip on his shoulder.

"Have you gone INSANE?!" hissed the Turk. "What the HELL are you doin'? I get it that ye turned yerself into bait, and that yer ticked off with th' goons there, but don't go wastin' yer bullets in the dark!"

"I can see them!" Romania shoved him aside, and bore his wild eyes into the entrance tunnel, hunching low on the stones, tensing to sprint right into the darkness and pursue the fleeing invaders.

"I can  _feel_  them retreating and scattering. UGH! Geez. Okay, I've managed to get rid of most of them except for two or three. Fuck. There will be more coming in and now I have to - I have to..."

Silence fell when Romania's voice quaked. "Never mind."

Switzerland felt uneasy with the Turk's ragged breathing and Romania's stifled sob. It was another one of those overwhelming moments the Alpine was witnessing between two Nations with a heavy heart.

"Okay Alex." Turkey murmured, breaking the eerie calm. Torchlight in hand, he started for the tunnel leading to the cave's epicenter where the Germans were posted. Switzerland had to strain his ears to hear what else the Turk said.

"Don't do anythin' stupid."

When he disappeared Romania took in a long deep breath.

The Nation had planted explosives in the cave with an extravagant plan to extinguish all the unwanted bloodcults in a rain of rock and stone. He had been very eager to do this in the very beginning. No regrets on pulling off his final patrol out of his country, and no regrets on readying detonations. However, something had happened in the heat of the screaming and the blood. Something had made Romania hesitate, and Switzerland suddenly wondered if he knew something he wasn't supposed to know.

Heard  _something he wasn't supposed to hear..._

"Switzerland?"

The Alpine almost jumped from Romania's quiet call and found himself briefly at a loss for words.

"Vash...?" The name was a breath in the air that caught him off guard.

"Ye - yes?"

Romania looked up and found him hidden in the right of the loft. There was an unsettling glow touching his face where his eyes glinted aflame.

"I can trust you," he said. His chest rose and fell, and rose and fell before he looked away and disappeared, swallowed up by the cavern mouth, leaving Switzerland in the dark alone.

The Alpine refrained from crying out a question. Leaving the cave alone  _was_  a part of the plan, but Switzerland was left baffled by the Romanian's cryptic statement.

 _Lure in the cannibals. Kill them. If any escape, kill them. If any come in, kill them._  Switzerland knew the details, but he didn't really expect the light that flickered in the Romanian's eyes, or the scowl that had vanished into the entrance tunnel, or the Turk who was supposed to stand by him being left behind.

 _What in the_ hell _was really going on?_

"Tuh...Turkey?" Switzerland called out, failing to suppress a shudder. He hoped that besides the stone and the corpses lying below his loft, the other Nation could hear the echoes of the name, and not any cannibals lurking in the catacombs of tunnels.

"Turkey?" The Alpine wasn't allowed to leave his post. "TURKEY!" But he was allowed to call for help.

He let out a sigh of relief when the Turk finally reappeared with his torch.

"Alps?"

"Something's wrong with Romania."

Turkey grunted. "Yah...I noticed."

"He just left! I thought he wasn't supposed to leave you? Isn't he being - ?"

"Very, very stupid? Yeh." The Turk groaned. "And you think he's gonna do some crazy shit? Yeah. I figured." The troubled Nation started hobbling around the entrance, dodging the corpses by his feet.

"I'll go after him," Switzerland said quickly. He was about to sheathe his gun when Turkey stopped him.

"No! Stick to the plan. Ro's not goin' to forgive you if ye leave yer post. I think he's just speedin' things up. He's not the type to leave a ruse unfinished. And remem - "

Turkey cut himself off, letting out an exasperated noise from a sudden recollection. Switzerland gulped, feeling the cavern's patterns of stone stifle him like a bird in a cage. The sounds of the crackling light of the torches turned mute to the ears when Turkey spoke.

His uncovered green eyes lifted to where Switzerland sat in the dark. "Remember," he whispered, "that I told you he's been tryin' to keep his people safe...?"

The Alpine nodded worriedly. He was still not used to seeing the Turk without his mask.

"And by that I meant everyone," the Turk told him. "And I mean...really  _everyone_..."

Switzerland froze, seeing the other Nation's grim countenance.

"That includes his _brother_..."

* * *

Poland's voice jolted her awake, she nearly bruised his face when she jumped.

"Lizzy, Lizzy, Lizzy!" Her Polish friend scurried, darting from her waking body to a huddled group bickering by the train tracks.

Hungary rubbed her eyes to see clearer. Her heart quickened when she noticed the skies were a gloom for the evening. She had dreamlessly slept for hours until the night of the  _third_  day!  _Or was it the fourth?_  She panicked. Time had been wasted.

Looking around, she found Poland flailing jazz hands at a familiar band of arguing patrollers.

"Sorry to seriously wake you," Poland said, as she got to her feet, "but like, do you totally know how to like deal with this? I'm totally worried. Seriously scared right now.

"I know they don't have a snooze button, but like, they've been at this since dinner! Veggie food's no longer your thing, so like I totally didn't wake you for that. But anyway, these guys are seriously mad at you for some reason, and I'm totally spazzing with worry, like I really want to help you guys but like Romania's all whacked and stuff, like - "

She jerked her attention to the circle of patrollers engrossed in dispute. A handful of them were from Romania's First Division she'd led earlier, one of them from the Middle, and two of them were Poland's, and Hungary was alarmed to see -

"Yer, not going!" "But -" "That mask of his' turned him crazy. I knew it!" "You shou' be sleepin'." "I'm scared." "Well. This poor dear can't sleep! And I can't sleep!" "I can still help!"

Gabi. Nadia. Lanky, one of the members of the Middle Division. And to her horror, Cosmin, the youngest patroller of the Last Division. That meant...

Something was wrong. Turkey was assigned with the Last Patrol, but if he had arrived with Cosmin, he should've greeted her by now.

Something was terribly wrong.

Her knees weakened from a dawning realization. "Poland..." she could barely breathe for her friend's name. "Feliks...?"

Poland still heard her over the heated argument, and he looked just as concerned with the situation.

"I think..." Hungary quaked. "I think we should..."

Poland read the lines on her face. "I know, Lizzy. Look I can totally help, it's totally cool, I can..."

She didn't hear the rest as her attention drifted, ears straining for fragments of the angry conversation, trying to piece some sense out of them. The more she heard, the more she felt fear crawl up her spine.

"What's he doin' there by himself?" "He wasn't, he was - " "Kid, we're taking care of you here." "Feliks will get things under control." "NO! But Izbăvitor !" "He's really taking that risk?" "I thought ye was supposed tah stay there longer?" "We couldn't after the evacuation - "

"Everybody!" Poland had raise his voice, finally taming their conversation. "It's like, night time, and I don't want to start shooting the skies to get people's attention!"

The group turned to the Nation, wide-eyed and pale. Hungary stood stiffly behind him, trying to ease her mind from all the fuss as Poland took control.

"Alright, can somebody - like maybe one person - tell us what's up? We're still the ones in charge here you know."

None of the patrollers moved. Even Poland's men were simply exchanging glances. Cosmin looked like he was about to burst into tears, and it was Gabi and Nadia who stirred.

"No good news, dear," the old woman tutted, petting Nadia's little shoulders. "Only news of more cannibals...hunters..."

The girl in her arms had a face glazed with tears, but she spoke firmly with no hesitation. "They said Izbăvitor is in trouble," she sniffed. "And Mister Sadık is in trouble...and our houses are in trouble..."

Cosmin suddenly burst out from the patrollers. "If Izbăvitor trusts you," he cried, pointing a finger at Hungary, "then I trust you!" He swiftly brushed past Poland and crumbled in front of the Hungarian's feet.

"You were supposed to go back to  _România_!" The child's face contorted with anger and tears, Hungary was taken aback. "He trusted you to come back sooner to help him! And you're here sleeping?! He's back there with just four other guys and we're pushed to stay here! There are a lot of bad guys now, and we don't even know if his new friends are - "

"Four?" Hungary gaped.

Cosmin glared at her incredulously. "Well yah! Sadık and three other guys came from the sky in a plane crash and - "

"A plane...?" Hungary was in a daze.

"Okay kid." Poland stepped in and knelt before the snivelling boy. "Tell us exactly what these three new guys looked like. We will seriously start the train and like, head right back to Romania..."

"I didn't catch their names but - "

Hungary did not remember how the world suddenly streamed into blurs around her. She didn't remember flying past Poland and the others, electrified with Cosmin's descriptions of the three newcomers ringing her head.

_"...they came from the sky in a plane..."_

Her heart roared to life with renewed vigor, and her mind flew across the tracks carrying her to the engine cart.

_"...there were three..."_

The bottle cap clinked in her pocket.

_"A blonde man wearing a Swiss cross..."_

The red scarf waved with her hair and white flower, and she replaced the mask on her eyes, concealing furrowed brows burdened with utter determination. She ran and leapt into the driver's cabin.

_"A red-eyed man with white hair..."_

Hungary was no expert in trains, but she could recall how to start it, and what lever Romania had pulled when she was with him. Valves and gauges confused her, buttons and tiny switches frightened her, and then her eyes fell to a black lever so plain, it was obvious for anyone who had some experience with German planes exactly what the purpose was. Cockpits and control panels had their similarities.

_"And a dark-haired man in blue wearing glasses..."_

She pulled back the thruster and the train shrieked to life. She wouldn't know how to stop the locomotive later, but she didn't care about that right now.

_"They said something about her..."_

Poland's voice was drowned by the groaning machinery and stirring engine, but she knew what he was crying out for her to wait for him, and that his truck was following. But time had been wasted enough.

_"I think they know her..."_

And the Hungarian's crying eyes stared straight forward through a dingy broken window pane, led by a ghost pulling her down a haunted path.

_"Hungary...Hungary..."_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Writer's Ramble:
> 
> Copilule, îƫi mai spun o data! (References the first line Romania tells Nadia in the first chapter.)
> 
> Hungary... Hungary... (References to Hungary's dreams)
> 
> *From Cluj to Sighetu on foot, it takes approximately 36 hours. In this case, it is possible to move a community in a span of two to three days, that including rest and food.
> 
> Special thank you soooo much to SeraSearaSpin and Majora M for helping me edit this! :) I am immensely grateful for the help and feedback!
> 
> Also there is a special screenshot art I made for this chapter in tumblr art blog saviourless!
> 
> And if you're a fellow RoHun shipper reading this series, check out my *ahem* M-rated drabble, "The Answer Was..." Interestingly enough, it's getting a second chapter that'll be a bit more intense. Please don't have to read it if you're not a shipper ;)
> 
> Chapter 20 ~
> 
> The Romanian knows something he wasn't supposed to and now, and he's disappeared to the outside world leaving Switzerland and the others in the dark of his secret agenda. All the while, Hungary charges back for Cluj to finally reunite with the German Nations she'd longed for ever since the chaos.


	20. The Damned

Part 1

 _"I understand that a man can have everything having nothing and nothing having everything._ " _Mihai Eminescu_ _(Romanian poet 1850-1889)_

* * *

 

"Corpses," he smirked, sheathing a pistol to finish tying a thread in a roughly crafted dummy. It was made of charred tree trunks, ropes and rags, looking like the Grim Reaper with an impaled head on a spear. Romania had vomited several times after putting up that feature. 

It’s not like he could tell who the head belonged to by the half-eaten face, but it was revolting and disgraceful. He felt like he needed the decoration anyway. 

Of course, he wasn’t the one who murdered this poor soul. He’d just scavenged it from one of the nearby cannibal camps that were supposed to threaten him, but it intrigued him so much he’d decided to use it for a decoy.

_ If these goons are just gonna eat each other, then I hope they eat each other to death,  _ he thought grimly. He kept reassuring himself this was all part of a ruse, a serviceable cause. Not a dishonourable act.

He remembered setting up his first decoy many weeks ago. It was one of his first little builds before making the one near Hungary's ditch. He remembered the smell of burning metal and smoke like it was yesterday, when the Calamity had struck, and the rivers soaked the land to drown everyone.

Opening his lucky black bag, he found threads, a knife, some stones he believed were magical, a box of matches and a couple of old fashioned explosives, including one which controlled the system he wound around his cave. It was like unloading a weight from his shoulders before a dive.

He tossed the empty bag away and stood tall and vulnerable on a hill over a land he was about to burn. His beloved Cluj was already in ashes, and adding more fire to the dust would scar it to the very end of its days.

After all of this, he would have nothing left in his country but a sliver of hope in the horizon.

He felt a rumble beneath his feet, sensing a familiar beat return to his land. A half-empty syringe poked in his pocket.

_ Damn her. _ He rolled his eyes while fishing out a match and lighting it up.  _ She's really speeding things up. _

He balanced the tiny tongue of flame on a gasoline string that connected itself to a wire system to his cave. 

Everything would combust around the decoy once the match tipped its fire to the ground. If he was not careful where he stepped, the flammable wire would tangle his feet and he'd be incinerated alongside his dummy.

He placed a couple of rocks around the match to give himself some time to run. Once it was rooted like a tree , Romania leapt away from his decoy and fled far enough from the scene, and then turned, aimed a gun, and fired at the foot of the match.

It awakened a spiraling inferno around the impaled head and slowly snaked towards Cluj.

Romania didn't know if he should be laughing or crying for the collapse of his caves, but he knew that this was no time for emotions. Insanity surged through his body, drowning his mind and blinding his eyes. 

The moment a stranger's face emerged from the shadows, he whirled and fired at the raging cannibals charging for his blood.

 

* * *

Hungry for a target, Switzerland tensed his fingers to numbness holding his rifle, when he heard the bullets echo through the caves. That was the signal of the start of their ruse.

It was sooner than he thought.

Turkey glanced up at him from his station at ground level. He shot him a grin, and Switzerland let loose a long heavy breath he didn't know he'd been holding.

"He'll be fine," the Turk said in an even tone, brandishing his long knife. "You know he's just havin' a little fun outside."

Romania was supposed to be accompanied by the Turk throughout the whole plan. He said he wouldn't leave Turkey's side, and that there would be two Nations luring goons into the cave. Instead, the Romanian was out on his own, running around and shooting god knows how many.

Switzerland grimaced, suspecting the worst case scenario. "Does he know?" he asked.

Turkey's smile faded.

"He heard us arguing, didn't he? About Germany...and Moldova..."

The Turk nodded gravely.

Switzerland swore. Prussia had yelled at them earlier to keep Moldova's appearance a secret, and Switzerland had hated the deception. 

He had urged them to run outside and find the boy in the boat, but the other Nations told him to let it go. They didn't know Romania had heard the argument and hid it all behind a smirk.

"Well, I'm not surprised," Turkey chuckled with a cough. "He's a smart guy. But right now...I know he's doin' somethin' stupid. I mean, we all are..."

Switzerland stared at him blankly. With Turkey's white mask missing, his face revealed someone else in the dim light. There was a sickly paleness to him and a tired, sad look in his dark eyes. 

Switzerland never noticed how much the Turk started wiping his mouth with a bloodied sleeve, and it made him wonder if Romania wasn't the only one hiding something behind a smile.

Before the Swiss Nation could ask him the question growing in his mind, Turkey leapt from his post and swung his knife at an incoming flood of doomed cannibals. 

Switzerland fired his first rain of bullets. There was no time for emotions. These mountain walls would soon be filled with blood and flames.

* * *

The train didn't stop.

It wasn't stopping.

But she had pulled the first lever she had used earlier to start the damned thing! Why wasn't it stopping?

Hungary's breath quickened. 

It wasn't stopping.

She immediately regretted leaving Poland far behind. If he was following her at all. She could really use his help right now.

The Carpathian Mountains were closing in like a red lit wall. Something caught in her throat.

She panicked.

She was going to destroy Romania's train before she could even get her friends to Poland.

She panicked.

_ No... _

_ Stop it. _

There was no time for panic.

There was no time for emotions whatsoever.

_ Stop it. _

She pulled every lever could find, punched every button and valve and switch her blood-soaked palms could muster.

And froze.

The train shrieked. It lurched forward the moment its wheels stopped turning.

Hungary dove out of the engine room and plunged into the ash and dirt before turning tail to run.

The train screamed behind her. All she could smell was smoke and metal, and all she could taste was her own blood on her hands.

She ran up a hill, far enough from the train tracks, and crouched behind the nearest mound of dirt, covering her ears.

She waited for the destruction. She waited for the wreckage.

But there was nothing.

It stopped.

The train's shrieks died down.

_ It stopped. _

* * *

"I'm finished!" Turkey exclaimed on the verge of laughter. "Get yer ass down here and let's run!"

There were at least eight bodies lying by his feet. Five of them had a single bullet hole to the head. Switzerland leapt from his perch and joined the other Nation.

He noticed Turkey's breath was laboured. Blood slithered from his lips and knife-wielding arm. Switzerland wished he could provide him a gun, but Romania had two damned pistols for himself and the rest of their four man team were left with a sword and knife.  

"Let's go!" Turkey ordered, turning away from the entrance and bounding off to the far tunnel. 

Switzerland followed, a question lingering on his tongue. They could hear angry screams trailing behind them.

As they hurried to make some distance from their enraged pursuers, he picked this moment to ask, “Turkey, you’re not sick, are you?”

The Turk snorted. "What makes you say that?"

"Something's wrong with you."

"Somethin's wrong with all of us."

"Stop it! When someone's sick, you know I can tell!"

When Turkey suddenly slowed to fall beside him, Switzerland knew something was definitely wrong.

The Turk looked at him hard. His smile was gone and the light in his eyes was cold as stone.

"I'm not sick, Vash..."

"I don't believe you."

Turkey wiped his mouth again. He frowned when he saw blood all over his sleeve. "Let's talk later. You might find this hard to believe."

Their exit was dimly lit by candlelight and torch, but it would be one of the last cavern halls they would ever see. 

At the end of the stony grotto was the third and last open clearing, linked to the central space where Romania had last held a meeting.

This third clearing held two stations for Prussia and Austria's attack, and it also had more pointy stalagmites, more cave mouths that linked to other rooms, and better lit halls and fewer frame structures. 

One of the wooden frame structures in particular held a large rock that would roll down and close the hidden exit. The exit itself was concealed behind two overlapping wooden frames, and from a distance it would seem like the only way out was already barricaded. 

Through the wooden frames, there was a pulley system that would operate on its own once the large rock had been closed, and it would haul people up a tunnel and into the surface. 

_ Like an elevator to heaven, _ Romania had joked.

The Nation and his patrol team had engineered the exit to be complex and closed from the outside, but open on the inside. Anyone inside could get out, but no one outside could get in.

Romania's patrol team had left through a ladder in another tunnel, which had been sealed when they left. Only one way out. 

They reached the end of the tunnel and found Austria first.

Romania had managed to seal most of the connected tunnels, and thankfully there were only six cave mouths, including their exit, to worry about. So far it seemed like the two Germans had been busy with a few stray cannibals.

Austria stood over the dead, brandishing his sword and examining it as if the blood was glittering gold.

Before Switzerland and Turkey even entered the clearing, a warning bullet hit the ground at their feet.

"It's us, damn it!" Switzerland yelled in annoyance. "Save your bullets!"

Prussia's laughter rang through the ceilings. "I know, I know! Just warning you to watch your step!"

Switzerland and Turkey had almost stumbled upon a body that could’ve tripped them towards a large spiked club of metal and nails.

"How'd they get past us?" Switzerland growled, his finger already on the trigger as he pointed the gun at the tunnel they’d come from.

"A group's prob'ly figured out a couple of tunnels weren't well sealed," Turkey offered.

"Well," Austria muttered, "the Romanian was the only one who ran around barricading things, so we expect the mishaps."

"Hurry up and get in position you two!" Prussia said suddenly. "They're coming in fast and angry, so be ready for my awesomeness!"

Switzerland almost tripped over a body when he spotted the grinning German settled overhead. 

Prussia was stationed on the frame contraption across the cave. Like Switzerland, he was overlooking their tunnel and Austria's ground attacks while protecting the exit below him. He was right by the large rock that was ready to roll and seal the escape.

The Swiss Nation rolled his eyes and whirled around to face the tunnels. 

The hunters arrived in clusters of three to five. Four groups had already emerged, looking bewildered by their new find.

Five bodies were felled where Austria stood as he easily fought off an incoming group in the left. Prussia covered for him, gun barrel tracking any who seemed like they’d be a threat.

Switzerland kept his sight around Turkey, who stood in front of a tunnel on the right-hand side, fighting back a hesitant group.

Switzerland was impressed by the concentrated state Austria was in - it was almost frightening. He was fighting like his old self but quicker and quieter - a stranger to his comrades but an ideal swordsman - and the Swiss Nation suddenly wondered if it had anything to do with the Immunity serum coursing through his veins. 

Prussia seemed to be wasting his bullets, impulsively blowing at least two or three holes through his targets.  Switzerland remained stingy with his, killing off goons with a precise single hit. 

Meanwhile with Turkey, every blow seemed to exhaust his limbs and squeeze his lungs until blood and sweat dripped from his skin.

"My Allah, forgive me.”

"We've been through this before," Switzerland recalled. "We've killed. We survived!"

"We're as terrible as they are," Austria agreed, fending off one large brute swinging a metal shard. "Honestly, who are we to judge?"

"Yeah well, I'm still so awesome!" Prussia's punctuated his exclamation with more bullets.

_ I will always hesitate to pull the trigger,  _ Switzerland thought after one of his bullets went through a young man who appeared to be in his late twenties. 

At first, he’d wondered why Romania hadn't tried negotiating a peace with these goons, and why Austria had despised himself for being one of the catalysts for their cannibalistic behaviours. 

The answers made themselves clear to him now, flooding into his mind just like the cannibals rushing into the cave. These hunters - so-called goons, thugs and blood cultists - were no longer human. 

They wielded spiked weapons, killed whoever got in the way, and butchered weaker members of their party with a reason to eat over friendship. They would not hesitate to bludgeon and impale for territory.

How in the hell Bulgaria and Moldova had survived the groups was beyond Switzerland's knowledge. The two Nations were probably one of the only sane ones left, and when they had gone, a thread of these people’s sanity snapped.

The four Nations were doing fairly well at dropping the senseless thugs when the earth suddenly shook under their feet, making both sides tremble and fall.

Romania had initiated the first explosion, shaking the northern side of the caves. Fire had probably reached the first mouth, and soon these stone walls would heat up like an oven with the wooden frame structures feeding the inferno. 

It was the signal to leave.

Switzerland cursed.  _ This whole thing's happening faster than I thought. _

Time froze in place and everyone seemed to wait for a swing of a blade or a bullet to break the silence. Switzerland breathed, catching a tinge of smoke in the air.

An agonizing scream cut through the silence. It resounded through the walls with a sharp choking noise. 

Switzerland’s breath caught in his throat.

A tall grinning man holding a bloodied shard loomed over a familiar figure curled up bleeding before him. 

Everything was happening so slowly now.

_ "That boy..." _ growled the man. The grinning beast.

Switzerland heard himself yell Turkey's name as he ran straight for him.

"Promised us land..."

A heavier figure grabbed the Alpine’s arm and pulled him back. Instant pain erupted through his lungs as a gunshot cut through his skin.

"Sanctuary..."

Switzerland could see Prussia's eyes widened, his mouth shaping, "No". 

A rush of a blue sliced through his view.

"With that train -- ack!! "

A head flew into the air. Blood showered his face. He could hear bullet, a short but solid rain. The tall figure flailed pass the Swiss Nation. The sound of a body hit cold stone.

Austria stood before him, wearing a look of concern. Glasses gone, lips trembling, the Nation’s navy blue eyes locked onto his own. The stub of his right hand oozed with blood - its old wounds reopened after he aided his left palm with the sword.

His blade had cut through bone. 

* * *

"Third one's ready in ten..." The fanged Nation held his last torch to the skies and counted down for the final fragments of his beloved caves. 

"...three Carpathian...two Carpathian..." 

He hesitated and lowered his hand. 

"One Carpathian..."

Flames devoured the combustible wiring, following it along some jutting debris and into one of the cave's barricaded entrances. It sizzled and seeped through the stone walls on its way to sticks of dynamites, bundled deep in one of the cavern halls.

Romania leapt away from the spark and ran. The first two bombs had already ignited portions of the caves inside and flooded the outside world with smoke and fluttering ash. 

The land before him was monochrome. Even the splatters of blood were as black as the soot-coated trees.

This was not his Cluj.

His eyes stung in pain and sorrow. He could cry for his country right now. He could cry for the many lives lost. He could cry for the uncertain clouds, fogging up the path before him. But there was no time for that.

There was the light at the end of the tunnel.

 

* * *

Switzerland felt a hundred needles constrict his sides the every time he took a breath. Blood dripped from a hole under his left lung. Had it been any higher, it would've been fatal for any human - for Nation-beings, that would've taken days to heal. This wound would take about a day to heal.

"Switzerland..." Austria sputtered. Pain and smoke made him cough up blood. "Help...Turkey..."

"Fuck!" Prussia's voice rang through the room. "I'm sorry - that bastard put you right in my shot!" The German bounded up to them.

Turkey was on his knees, clutching at his stomach. Red stained his clothes, slowly dripping down to meet the ground in a dark, ominous pool. Austria was wobbling, struggling to keep himself up. 

Switzerland kept his eyes open, his mind alert. He was absently cradling his bleeding side, but but he was more concerned with everything else happening around him - if he was who he’d been before, he would've sprung up and made a run for it, away from this hell. 

Earth shook below their knees. Swirls of fire rolled over their heads.

"I don't think," Prussia coughed through the haze, "they're the last ones coming in!"

Fire would consume them.

Switzerland's mouth moved, but no sound came. Lungs roaring in pain, he cleared his throat, and tried again. "Help me get Turkey and Austria through the exit!"

"No." Austria staggered forward, his composure breaking like glass. “It's okay. I can walk on my own." The bleeding, white-knuckled grip he had on the hilt of his sword faltered.

"Austria!" Prussia ran to his side, swearing. He looked frantic, staring at the Austrian's back, his hands flailing uselessly over his head. "For fuck's sake..."

Switzerland's gaze followed his and he suddenly noticed an object impaled on the Austrian's back. A spear's end protruded from his right shoulder, close to his spine. The spear was as white as bone, snapped down to the size of a dagger.

Prussia's hands hovered over it. "Fuck, did it - ?"

"No." Austria winced, his head hung low. "We can take this off later. Please."

"I'll do it!" Switzerland moved quickly, ignoring how short his breaths were becoming. "Prussia, let's take Turkey out of here - "

"'m fine." Turkey spoke with a weary nod. Blood seemed to ooze from his every pore, but he was standing. 

They planned to remove Austria's spear once they were safe in the elevator exit. Prussia helped the Austrian limp towards it, ignoring him protesting that he could walk there on his own. Turkey followed, and Switzerland trailed behind.

" Sadık  are you going to be alright?" The second time he'd asked. "Where did you get hit? I can volunteer to close the exit. It’s only a lever, isn't it?"

The Turk's ever-present smile faltered. "You're shot," he said.

"I'll heal. Trust me, it’s not the first time."

They were almost at the exit when they heard the sound of crackling fire in one of the tunnels. A flare blazed through the darkness, red as a sunset against the walls. Shadows danced through the light and an echo of thundering footsteps flooded their ears. Those who had lost their way in the winding caverns had finally discovered their way out, and they were not stopping.

_ Run.  _

They were not stopping.

_ Escape it. _

Switzerland did not want to find out how many were left.

_ Close the door. _

Romania had lead so many into his Cluj like a murder of bloodthirsty crows to a corpse.

_ Fire would consume them. _

"Hurry!" Prussia yelled. Austria glanced back. Turkey stumbled. Switzerland staggered the other way, heading towards the lever. His lungs were on fire. The smoke was making things so much worse.

Prussia aimed his gun at the first panicked thugs pouring through the haze. Austria was behind him, searching for Turkey and Switzerland in the whirling smoke.

Switzerland could hardly see them now. He needed to pull the lever to seal the rock. Soon they would be free from this hell. He saw it. Reached for it. 

And pulled.

It didn't move.

It wasn't moving.

He pulled again. His lungs squeezed to its breaking point, and he felt a fresh rivulet of blood stream down his side.

_ It wasn't moving. _

He coughed, disbelieving. 

The lever was lodged.

Stuck.

The earth shook.

He hadn’t expected this to happen.

The second explosion.  _ The final seal to a countdown, _ Romania had said. By the third explosion, the whole cave would be nothing but fire and rock.

He felt someone pull him back by the collar.

Smoke filled his eyes.

His lungs constricted.

Fire.

He fought to see through it.

A blade planted itself in the lever's place.

Austria's sword.

He pulled.

_ Austria? _

It moved.

Switzerland was dragged away.

Then, there he was.

Dark eyes through the soot.

Red footprints. He stained the very ground at his feet.

An old empire vanishing through the clouds of gray.

_ "Old friend..." _

His voice was a whisper through the smoke and pandemonium.

_ "You go. I stay..." _

Switzerland fell into a darkness sealed by stone.

Turkey was left on the other side.

* * *

Romania had miscalculated his ruse. He hadn't expected the Hungarian to return so early. Then again, he hadn't expected to send his patrol to Poland earlier either.

He told himself the only reason his eyes watered was from the raging white smoke, fogging up his beloved caves in an attempt to hide it from the world.

The first explosion had collapsed the eastern side of his caves, while the second created a jagged flaming maw at the entrance. Slowly stone and rock fell, and piece by piece the caves crumbled and he watched.

He had killed people and he had destroyed his own home. What's more, he’d left his people to his most hated rival. If the Hungarian were here, he'd remind her of their little game, and laugh at his own loss.

Nation-beings were founded to do such actions - even encouraged in drastic times. Though immortal in a sense, a Nation-being was a human too, and Romania was no exception to feeling pain in his heart.

A distance away, concealed by the pile of corpses, Romania was wiping his face between chuckles. He hated the fact his tears were mixing with sweat, and he hated the laughter leaving his throat. He was hating so many things right now, including himself. He should've done so many things before all this, like carry a filtration mask, for example. His cursed eyes stung, and it was like looking through a broken window pane.

Through the smoke was once his Cluj and the forty or sixty people lying dead around him, were once friends and family. Through the tears and laughter was misery in his heart.

Emotions roiled in his stomach and bloodcults scattered in his land. Hope created a damned dream in his head.

The Calamity was as unpredictable as an insane mind.

He coughed, suddenly reminded of that cursed Immunity.

_ To hell with this, _ he thought.

Still.

There was a light at the end of this tunnel.

He could hardly sense anyone in this mess. Too much rubble. A flood's coming in. Too many dead.

Still.

_ There was a light at the end of this... _

Just when he was getting up to scout around for the Hungarian - he figured she'd be running for the cave entrance upon arriving, knowing the exit was sealed on the outside - he spotted her. 

There she was. Standing at the front of the jaws of a crumbling entrance was Hungary, poised to sprint into the inferno.

* * *

She had a thought.

She was going to save them.

It wasn't an impossible thought.

She would just snake her way in, run into the fire and find them. Something in the back of her mind told her it was an insane idea, but it was not impossible. She had the Immunity running through her veins, and if it had let her live for three months buried in a ditch, it should help her through the flames.

_ Impossible. Impulsive. Immunity. _

Smoke clouded her eyes and her mind. 

_ Is Austria in there?  _ she thought, coughing and taking a step forward into the burning maw of what was once sanctuary.

She blinked.

A body tackled her to the ground. Water seeped into her throat.

They landed in a stream that could easily have been connected to the expanded Danube. Cluj had slowly been flooding since she'd arrived few days ago before she left for Poland.

"Okay! That's twice I’ve saved you from doing something stupid."

At first, she thought he was a ghost, coated with white dust. The fanged-toothed grin on his face made her want to slap him to see if he was real.

"Magyar, you owe me - "

She slapped him anyway.  _ Yup. Not a ghost. _ She was too tired to punch him right now.

"I didn't need you to save me," she harrumphed.

Romania scowled. "You're welcome," he said, rubbing his cheek. "I thought we moved past these sort of greetings..."

"I don't have time for this," she snapped, getting up and fixing her soaked clothes.

Behind them the explosions continued, smaller but still just as devastating. The ground vibrated to every beat of rock falling to the ground.

It was a thundering display and Hungary felt herself panic from the the images flashing in her mind - people were trapped inside the rubble and among them could be her own friends. 

"You were about to do something stupid," Romania said, shaking her out of her thoughts. 

"I knew the plan," Hungary replied sternly. "I just wanted to see if I could do the impossible."

"Don't push your luck. You were just being impulsive! I can't believe you arrived this early." Romania fumed, rubbing his temples. "You could've at least invited Poland to our family reunion! And how in the holy Carpathians did you manage to park the train? Tell me you didn't crash it."

"I didn't!" Hungary glowered. "I had everything under control!"  _ That was...partly a lie. _

"Explain why you were standing in front of an exploding cave!"

"You were also doing the same thing!"

Romania rolled his eyes. "Witch, I was looking for you! You were being stupid. I had a feeling you were going to try to get inside."

"There was a chance!" She pouted. "And I'm not stupid!"

"I know. You're  _ rational _ ," he said the last word with sarcasm. "That, combined with irritating, means you're prone to being  _ ir _ rational."

"That doesn't make any sense."

"I don't have time for this."

"I don't either!" Hungary sighed exasperatedly.  _ That idiot. _ "Okay. Let's just get going and find the others - "

"They're at the south exit where you'd most likely crashed the train," Romania said quickly. "You should've stayed there to wait for them, but I get why you’re here now. My patrol had probably said something when they arrived. 

“I took care of everything out here though. I'm sure Turkey and your beloveds made it out safely. I gave them a heads up. Switzerland's with them, so I'm sure, things went okay. See I killed us enough pests out here..."

"Alright!" Hungary exclaimed, already climbing out of the stream. "I get it. Come on."

As she straightened herself up and brushed dirt off her pants, she suddenly noticed the world was quiet.

Hungary paused to take it all in. It was over.

The explosions had finally ceased, and the last piece of the cave had fallen.

She couldn't hear a sound of snarling goons and it was as if the fogging white smoke had erased the cave's destruction, leaving behind a flickering sunset against the ash and stone. Blackened trees appeared faintly through the fog like haunting shadows raised by the dead. Water crept along the ground, mirroring the world above it.

"We'll hop on the train and get out of here." The Hungarian spoke hesitantly, a little afraid to shatter the peace - there was something uneasy about it. "If Turkey and the others have taken care of the cannibals in the cave, I'm sure you're done with your ruse. You said so yourself that you finished some off out here and - Romania?" 

He was lingering on the edge of the stream, looking at her thoughtfully. With a nod he climbed out of the water and onto the other side. His back turned to her, and he mumbled something she couldn't hear.

"What?"

There was a pause before he finally turned to look at her. For a second, she couldn't even recognize him.

"I'm not going with you," he said quietly.

"Whh..." Hungary looked at him in disbelief. "What do you mean you're not going with me? We're going to Poland together and - "

"They lied to me..."

"Lied to you?" She felt her voice rising in frustration. "What? Who in the hell - "

"You  _ all _ lied to me," he said bitterly. His mouth tightened when he locked into her gaze. "I heard everything. Your dearly beloved husbands were arguing about a lost child - I didn't think it'd be - y'know, I didn't know they meant - " He faltered, eyes darting away from her in a mixture of anger and confusion.

He knew about Moldova...

"I'd already said my goodbyes but -  " he choked. "They said they found him - that he's out there alone." His fists clenched around his pistols. "And I can't just ignore that. Not again. I have convinced myself he was dead." A chuckled rose from his throat. "Way too many times I told myself that. But now - from what they said - what I heard - "    

"Please, Romania," Hungary couldn't keep her voice from shaking. "Can we talk about this - ?"

He laughed. "There's just nothing left to talk about!" Hungary felt a chill run down her spine.

"Let's be serious  _ Ungaria _ ," said the Romanian. He raised a pistol and started spinning it with one hand. He sounded calmer. Restrained.

" _ Yes, _ I overheard Switzerland begging to your beloved Prussia and Austria to turn back and look for a particular boy they’d left behind. I trust Alps, so I can assure you that's something. After much deliberation, in the end, they all agreed to hide the little truth from me. Apparently, even you and Turkey had a feeling Moldova was still out there, so that simply confirms it.

"Magyar, you know I like secrets. I like keeping them myself.  _ However _ ," The spinning stopped. "If I were to keep a secret, it wouldn't be about my brother in this hell." He cocked the pistol to her direction, aimed right between her eyes. "So try and stop me."

Hungary stared at him and the gun to her head. She’d never flinched when he had threatened to shoot her before, but now, she was shaking. Not for the trigger he was about to pull, but for her own boiling rage at his insanity. 

_ Is he really thinking of leaving his people to look for his brother...again? Does he really want so much more at this time? _

At that moment, she saw herself in his eyes.

A Nation who held on to a ghost of a boy in a dream.

Hungary trembled. "Do you really believe Moldova is out there?"

"Yes." He did not even hesitate. He was so sure and Hungary could see it.

She swallowed and turned the tables.  "And you think  _ I'm _ going to stop you, like you did me?" 

The words betrayed a little voice in her head. They were both mad. 

_ Damn him. _

His gun shook.

"I'm  _ not  _ like you, Alex," Hungary said through gritted teeth. "Hell, I don't care if you start stripping down naked and running around playing food for the cannibals! I don't care if you start wandering around looking for your brother, so long as you just - " a lump caught in her throat, "so long...as you...just...keep your damn promise to Cosmin and Nadia and everyone else you left me with in Poland!" Her vision blurred. She had to turn away and start walking in the other direction.

"Wait!" Romania's voice called her back.

_ That idiot. _

"I told you, I don't care!" She couldn't even look at him.

_ I'm not like him. _

"Turkey gave this to me," he said softly.

She hesitated but looked back to him slowly. His smirk was gone, hair covered his dirtied face and his shoulders sagged, as if all the merriment had been drained from him. 

He was holding the Immunity syringe in his palm. It was hers, the one she had traveled with since the moment they met by the ditch, and the one she had given to Turkey before she left for Poland.

"He told me to give it back to you...in case he doesn't make it through the fight in the caves..."

Hungary's nostrils flared. "What the hell do you mean by that? Turkey wasn't fighting alone. You clearly said Switzerland and Prussia and - "

"Just take it!" he spat. "This is  _ yours _ , Magyar."

Hungary narrowed her eyes at him. The Immunity was really Austria's, and she’d held on to it after all this time like a memory in her mind. It was a burden, but it was also a symbol of faith in its own way.

"Keep it," she said finally. “ For you, from me .”

Romania shook his head. "I don't want it."

"I don't care. Just keep it."

A faint smile crossed his lips and he was about to leave when she stopped him this time.

"You’d better find him through all this mess," she said.

He paused and glanced over his shoulder. "I will," he grinned. "I have some faith."

With that he started walking away through the trees. "You should get going," he said, his laughter floating through the air. "They're waiting for you."

"Remember your promise!”

"See you around, Magyar..."

She bit her lip. She wasn't going to say goodbye.  She never would. 

Unarmed and careless, Hungary strode on to the opposite direction.

The world was quiet and still. She saw her own reflection mirrored in the glassy calm splashing under her feet.

Finally she would see Austria and Prussia again, and the mere thought quickened her pace. A weight in her chest lifted at the feeling of freedom.

It was over.

It was all over.

"Another time, Dacian..." she said suddenly. Then paused.

The words that escaped her lips were from someplace buried in the back of her mind, rusted for many centuries. It was a memory of a little girl who’d stumbled into a river with a smiling boy who wore a fanged-toothed smirk.

Hungary glanced back one last time at where the Romanian had stood.

Nothing there. 

No one left.

A creeping regret wormed in her heart when she turned away.

 

* * *

"Vash..." Austria's voice spoke through the darkness.

Switzerland could feel the earth trembling. Burning wood filled his nose and he sat there paralyzed, staring into space.

The sound of creaking of pulleys reached his ears, and Austria and Prussia's quiet murmurs droned behind him. His back was turned to them, but he could tell Prussia was pulling the elevator up to their exit.

"I don't get it," the Prussian whispered, "Why did you give him your sword?"

Austria took a moment to reply. "Even in hell an Empire can stand to the bitter end with a sword," he said simply.

Silence followed them to the top of the elevator. White light seeped through the remaining tunnel exit. 

When they finally reached the last level, the pulleys groaned to a halt. Dying embers and falling rocks greeted them as they rushed through the hole.

Switzerland brushed past Austria and Prussia, who was focusing on taking out the spike on the other Nation’s shoulder. The Alpine didn’t want to speak to them until they were finally outside. Though, he'd rather not speak to them at all. They had just let Turkey sacrifice himself to help him pull a damn stick on a rock! Damn them.

Another Nation had fallen for his sake. First Belgium, now -

Switzerland's lips trembled when he clawed out of the narrow exit.

Vision blurring, he ignored the pain in his bleeding side. He no longer cared about his wounds. He would heal. He would live on. It was so unfair.

His teeth clenched as he finally reached the end of the tunnel, freed from the hellish darkness of the dying cave. 

Outside white smoke hovered over the blemished Cluj. Charred trees loomed over the ruins.

Only now did he feel all the blood that was still slowly trickling down his chest, and he crumbled breathless to the ground like a puppet whose strings have been cut. 

A thread had snapped in his heart, and all he could think about were those who were lost.

"What the fuck - " Prussia emerged from the cave panting, Austria limping by his side, " - was that, stupid Switzerland? You just ran off without us!"

Switzerland wiped his face dry. "I didn't want to stay in that cave any longer," he said tightly. "Someone had to run ahead to scout..."

"Yah, and get his ass killed by the first man-eating-shithead!" Prussia scolded, setting Austria down on one of the jutting stones - the spearhead on his back was gone.

"Fucking  _ unawesome  _ excuses," Prussia spat  "I don't need another ass to lose his head!" 

Switzerland's tight fists loosened. "I'm sorry," he croaked, unable to hide a sob rising to his throat. "This is the second time a Nation has sacrificed their life for me in this hell...and I..."

"AND YOU WHAT?" Prussia yelled, as he was ripping a piece of cloth to bandage the Austrian. "You run off throwing away your life after they let you live? Sheeesh, you're going as crazy as this guy!" He slapped Austria's back after he finished wrapping him up, making the Nation look nauseous.

Switzerland raised his arms in frustration, blinking back tears.

"After all this time..." Austria coughed, looking up at him with a faint smile on his face. "You're still not used to other Nations...sacrificing their lives for you...?"

Switzerland's gaze fell to the ground, and he reluctantly joined the Austrian’s side, settling by the stone.

Prussia raised a brow at the two of them before leaping up to his feet.

"Okay! Enough of whatever this is. I'm gonna go looking for stupid Hungary." He strode behind the Swiss Nation and exchanged rifles.

Switzerland wondered if they even had any bullets left in these guns.

"My awesomeness will guard you two." Prussia waved quickly. "Keep an eye on the crazy Mister Austria," he said before bounding away and vanishing into the fog.

The moment he was gone, Switzerland turned to cleaning his own wounds, biting his lip from the pain. He worked silently for a while as Austria sat numbly by his side. 

Switzerland kept Prussia's gun close, alert for any sounds beyond the flickering fires and falling rocks. The caves had finally crumbled, but he wasn't convinced all cannibals had been killed yet, even if the majority of them were destroyed in the collapse.

All of a sudden the Austrian Nation stood up and started towards another direction. Switzerland finished covering his wounds and stumbled after him, gun in hand.

"And where do you think you're going?" Switzerland asked, stopping right in front of the vacant Nation.

Austria didn't reply. He didn't even look at the Alpine. In his eyes was the stranger again - a burdened soul locked in the basement of a ruined home, surrounded by broken beakers and emptied needles, and German boys who caged him with a soundless piano.

Austria was staring straight into the barren distance at something as faint as the smile on his lips.

"Roderich?" Switzerland called, waving a hand up his nose. When he turned to follow the Nation’s gaze, he gasped. 

Waiting for them in the distance, unveiled by the white smoke, was the striped blue, white and gold, Dacia Express.

* * *

Hungary was in a dream and he was but a mere illusion, charging straight for her with a spear in hand. 

Soon, he would have her by the throat, ripping her skin apart with gnashing teeth. She didn't know where to go but forward, her arms raised for a petty fight.

The man stopped dead in his tracks. She could hardly see his face through the fog, and her tears were obscuring the world around her. For once, she was afraid. She was afraid to move forward. She was afraid to meet this cannibal head on. 

The man raised his spear and hovered it up to his nose, pointing bone across the distance like a gun. 

_ Was it a gun? _

She couldn't tell.

She could already feel hands wringing her throat - teeth biting her flesh -

_ "Liz?" _

The dream spoke.

Hungary shook her head.  _ It can't be... _

She blinked her eyes wide open and saw...

"Gilbert...?" She whispered his name so softly she thought there was no way he could hear it.

The gun he held - she thought was a spear - never faltered. "What's the colour of Austria's overused underpants?"

Any other day she would burst out laughing so hard at this. "You ridiculous jerk," she smiled.

"Answer the awesome question," Prussia sing-songed. 

Hungary giggled. "Pink with a patch he stitched on the left cheek. He said they're too exquisite to lose."

With that answer, Prussia grinned from ear to ear. He almost dropped his gun when he ran to her, eyes sparkling with happiness. She welcomed him in her arms in a tight embrace and a kiss.

_ Istenem, he still tastes like beer, _ she thought happily.

There was so much to tell him, and she was certain he had a lot to say since the Calamity. But for now, the sweet tearful hug was enough to render them both speechless. He was alive and real.

_ This wasn't a dream... _

 

* * *

"She'll never forgive me..."

The train was slowly drifting in reverse. Switzerland had it started in a snail's pace, hoping the movement would catch Prussia's or Hungary's eye as it inches its wheels on. All he needed to do was pull the throttle and the train would accelerate onto Poland. 

It was running out of fuel, and Switzerland knew the train wouldn't make it out of the country. But at least it would take them three quarters of the way to the safe zone, far enough from Romania's caves but close enough to be about a day's walk to new land.

Sitting by the edge of the engine car, Austria was going over what he was going to say to Hungary, murmuring to himself about how he would never be forgiven. Switzerland couldn't help but overhear to his little amusement. The Austrian was obviously nervous, probably frightened by the thought of Hungary meeting him again after his madness helped cause the drastic change of human cannibalism in surrounding countries including his own. 

Switzerland had a hard time forgiving him earlier about it, and he really wondered how Hungary would react.

"You know," Switzerland spoke softly, watching Austria stand up and face a window, "I thought after all this time, seeing her is worth more than what she'll think of you. Even if she'll hate you...you'll see her again."

Austria didn't respond. He brushed past the Swiss Nation with an unreadable expression behind his glasses and a smile at one corner of his lips. He was heading for the open door to the other wagon. 

Switzerland held back his shoulder. "And where are you going now?"

Austria gently pushed it away with his hand. "A maestro would always take a deep breath before his performance," he sighed.

"You're not leaving my sight!"

"Would you like to join me in the restroom?"

Switzerland let out an irritated noise. "Fine! Just hurry up and get back here! I know you need some space, but Prussia and Hungary will be here - "

"I know..." Austria nodded before leaving the car for another room.

Switzerland bit his lips and wiped a bead of sweat off his face. He had to look after the engine before it would start speeding up on its own. What's more, there were probably goons left wandering Cluj. 

When he looked through the control panel's window he spotted a couple of figures closing in on them. He readied his rifle in an instant, but as the shapes took form through the fog, he lowered the gun with a sigh of relief.

Prussia and Hungary were both racing for the moving train. The Hungarian Nation wore what appeared to be Turkey’s mask over her face and scarf around her neck - possible gifts from their earlier adventures. Her running partner was grinning excitedly and flailing his arms at the Alpine.

Switzerland had hoped another particular Nation was with them. When Hungary and Prussia leapt into the engine open car door bursting with laughter at how one was a rotten wurst and the other was a moldy goulash, Switzerland didn't hesitate to ask.

"Where's Romania?"

Prussia and Hungary looked at him with sad eyes, but their smiles never faded. 

"He told us, he'll catch up when we get to Poland," Hungary said firmly.

Switzerland grimaced, turning away and pulling the throttle hesitantly. The train lurched onto an accelerating speed. 

“Prussia also told me what happened to Turkey…” Hungary’s voice lowered with a heavy heart, creating a pain in the Alpine’s chest. She was told the sad news, and from her tear-stained face, it had hurt her greatly before she came here. 

Well, he didn't want to talk about Turkey, or the Romanian out to sacrifice himself for the good of many. He'd cry about it later --

"...Where's Austria?" Hungary asked, her gaze searching around the room.

Prussia swore. He bolted out the engine car and burst through the doors down each wagon, swearing German obscenities Switzerland would rather not repeat.

Hungary watched him disappear further into more train cars, his gun sheathed behind him, and then she looked at the Alpine Nation.

Switzerland panicked. "He needed some air! I thought - "

"We will find him," she said with a feeble smile. Her warm green eyes shone hopefully against his own. He had to look away, reminded of a memory of Belgium melting his heart.

They searched quickly, looking through the furthest wagon, to the engine car again as the train moved on to Poland. Left behind was a madness buried in earth and stone. Ash and dust swirled and sprinkled over bodies and trees.

With Austria missing, a lingering touch of insanity clung on to them.

"I found him!" Hungary's voice cried out with a gurgle. She sounded like she was struggling. Switzerland was at the engine car, while Prussia was at the far end of the train.

Switzerland strained his ears. He couldn't tell which car the Hungarian was in.

"Hungary?" Switzerland called, Prussia joining his side and following his lead. "Where are you?"

A clamour echoed from above - a body had slammed against the roof of one of the train cars, denting the metal.

Someone had jumped.

He didn't know who screamed Austria's name first. Him or Hungary.

* * *

Yelling the cliche,  _ "I killed your friends and family for your heads!" _ was a brilliantly stupid idea - and that was sarcasm. Obviously the leftover bloodcults would be running after him, screaming at each other a jargon of orders to follow.

Romania thought they were like a pack of headless, savage wolves howling at the wind and trailing meat with no eyes. He would forget they were people once. They didn't look alien, just people in rags and thug outfits, he mused.

Those cannibals who decided to stay behind from the large pack who entered the cave were either dumb, or clever enough to notice a trap. Romania estimated a good twenty. He was impressed that that tall man - whatever happened to him - who killed his old friend in that trainwreck, had really managed to lead one hell of a crazy community of bloody goons into his Cluj.

_ How stupid of a takeover that was,  _ the Nation thought. 

Leaderless, senseless and fearless, they pursued him, weapons held high.

And he ran.

He ran along the flooded Danube, passing memories like sifting through an old album - each bloody corpse and charred tree was a relic in his desolate museum of rubble and dust.

He didn't stop.

He wasn't stopping until his last breath led him to where he needed to go.

A hiding spot.

An opportunity.

A chance to strike.

_ Where? _

Romania passed the crash site of a plane left behind by two long lost German Nations for their beloved, the cannibal camps where Switzerland said he'd stumbled upon, and the lined corpses Hungary fished out to find those lost. He bounded past where Turkey stood like a ghost, looking out for a sign of life across the horizon, where Bulgaria and Moldova met their fate.

Behind Romania followed a remaining group of at least twenty, outraged humans with quivering mouths and reddening eyes. 

He reached curved land, marked by the Danube but damned by earth’s moved crust. He had almost forgotten how a terrain's scar could become so useful.

He finally stopped.

Too exhausted to run any further, there he jumped into an empty shallow trench and waited. It would seem that he had disappeared from view of the cannibals.

He was breathing heavily - he couldn't help the noise of his senses. He still had one more loaded gun in his hand. The other was empty. He peered over the top of the ditch. When the cannibals came into sight, he began firing. One by one, unable to spot the source of the bullets, they fell.  What crossed his mind was if the bloody cult was smart enough to fool him, then again, he was ready to test their sanity.

When the quiet of death filled his ears, he decided it was time to revel in the sight of his kills; he leapt over the trench and counted them all.  To his dismay there were only twelve on the ground.

There had been at least twenty...

He raised his gun and spun around, listening, feeling for where the most heartbeats stood. Smoky fog stung his eyes, but he focused and sensed a scrimmage a distance away, huddled in one area by the river.

He sprinted after them, hoping they were distracted enough to care less of him shooting them down.

When he found the rest of the group he didn't hesitate to shoot. They were distracted, examining a particular shape docked by the side of the river. The first few goons he shot down gave him a good view of the object, and his eyes widened at the mere sight of it.

_ A boat. _

One of his boats.

Most likely the one that was reported missing.

* * *

"I have hurt you, my dear," Austria said. "I have always tried to make good things for us, but there is always something wrong."

He stood at the edge of the roof with his back to the end of his days. He faced Hungary with empty eyes. He was ready to surrender, and Hungary could see it. Prussia had already told her Turkey had died in the caves. She wasn't ready to lose another loved one.

"Austria..." she said with forced calm, afraid that if her voice cracked, it would be the end of him. She took a wary step forward. It was a little shaky on the roof of a moving train, and she prayed Austria would remain frozen where he was before a gust of wind would steal him from her before she really got to touch him.

She could just take one more step with her hand reaching out to him...

"Roderich,  _ please _ ..."

"There is always something wrong!" he cried out. "This Immunity couldn't even save  _ our  _ country when I thought it could! I destroyed lives, Elizaveta...I destroyed lives in this Calamity and after what I've done, I don't deserve any forgiveness, especially from you -- OOF!"

She jumped. Landed right in front of him. Threw her arms around him before she accidentally sent him to his own demise. 

"Austria!" She heard another voice echo her cry.

She pulled him away from the edge and she held him in her arms.

"I've hurt you so many times," he sobbed. "I am so sorry...very truly I am..."

Hungary closed her eyes. "Roderich, look at me," she said, pulling away from him a little. They could hear Switzerland in the background, mumbling some words if they were okay, but for the time being, they ignored him. 

Austria slowly raised his head up to her. Grief and regret lined his face, almost making him unrecognizable. He looked like he had died in the past of sorrow. It frightened her, and for a moment, she thought,  _ is he really the same?  _

She was staring at a stranger like the Turk who hid his dying heart behind a mask. Austria wasn't going to die because of the Immunity in him, he would die if he continued carrying a burden of the past...like a Romanian who wanted so much more...

The blue in his eyes vanished when he turned away from her and that made her so angry, she slapped him.

He cleared his throat, looking bewildered.

"You know you deserve that," she said, fuming at his red face. She slapped him again to the other side this time. He didn't even stop her.

_ "Istenem _ , Roderich!" she cried. "Stop this! Stop regretting what you've done! I'm here, you're here. Alive and together again, and that's enough! What's happened happened. We can't help everything and everyone! Don't you understand that? We are Nations, and like our own people we make mistakes! It is something human in us! You're sorry for what's happened, and I'm sorry too, Roderich...just..." She trailed off, covered in tears, too choked up to continue.

She buried her face in his shoulder. If he were to bring up anything from the past it should be those thoughtful gifts, the piano serenades, the playful fights, the cakes...

They had strengthened each other, treasured each other's vulnerabilities, and taught each other love none of her other friends could compare. Austria was the prince she looked up to, while he in return felt the same. 

She was his goddess in battle and sweetest melody.

Only between them was a waltz with a candlelight to hold on to.  A glowing friendship that never ebbed, flickering ceaselessly against the wind no matter the storms.

He had to smile again. She would make him smile again. She thought he'd be so happy to see her. Fling his arms around her...but he looked so cold and dead...

This wasn't the man she wanted to find.

"I'm sorry too," she said tearfully, holding on to what was left of her old friend.

The world quietly hummed, as the train moved further away from the Cluj mountains. Farther and farther away from the embers of a nightmare. Hungary could hear the other Nations muttering below them in one of the train cars. Probably wondering what else they were doing on the roof.

Moments passed when Austria's hands lifted, and slowly embraced her. When she slightly pulled away from him, he tucked a strand of hair away from her face.

Like the love-struck schoolboy she remembered, he let his fingers trail along her cheek, making her lean into the touch. It had been so long since she had him.

"I don't deserve you, Elizaveta  Hédeváry ," he sighed, smiling at her fondly.

"You're right you don't," she scowled, and hungrily kissed him hard on the lips before he could say more. 

The kiss held all her hopes of freeing him from his sorrow, and when he returned it deeply, she felt her heart flutter. A song was playing in the Austrian again and she looked forward to hearing it over the desolate wasteland.

"The Awesome One is coming through!" Prussia interrupted, leaping on to the roof and joining them both in a tight bear hug. 

"I will pan you to hell, Prussia!" she smirked, encircling her arms around their shoulders.

"Don't I miss this," Austria commented a little dryly.

Peering over the roof at the edge of the train Switzerland looked unamused with his arms crossed. 

"There are plenty of rooms  _ in  _ the train you know," he said.

* * *

Sensing his bullets, some of the cannibals charged for him.

He shot and missed. One more shot. Hit. A body fell.

Despite their wounds, three managed to get close to him. One grabbed his shooting arm and twisted it so hard he heard his bones crack, but an adrenaline-fueled headbutt sent the other man's senses to delirium. Now his hand was free, but with his head still spinning, he wasn’t fast enough to prevent a crushing blow to his back, inflicted by another goon with a spiked club. His breath hissed through his teeth, and he felt the warmth of blood cascading over shrieking nerve endings. He felt someone grab his hair, tilting his head back, but his bullet was faster than the spearhead plunging for his throat. The one cannibal who’d clubbed his back swiped at his gun arm with the bat.

Pain exploded through his arm as the nails and other assorted sharp objects tore through his skin. The next strike was to the back of his legs, knocking him down to his tired knees. There was enough room for him to raise the gun and fire point-blank into the cannibal’s skull when it came around to swing at his head. The corpse fell, and he flinched away from its empty eyes.

Romania spat, and saw entirely too much blood among his saliva. He backhanded from his mouth as he panted for breath. He felt completely exhausted, his legs were like lead, and his wounds wouldn’t heal fast enough.

The world fluttered in dizzying swoops and swirls - breaking someone else’s skull with his own probably wasn’t the best idea. He sat back on his heels, trying to keep his balance. His eyes, already stinging from smoke, were now blinded from an additional source: blood from his forehead. 

At least he had managed to block that fatal spear blow, though it had left a mark on his neck that he was both impressed and terrified by.

When he tried to force himself up to approach the boat, he felt his back wound scream horribly, and was that something touching his  _ spine _ …? 

Some of the broken glass and nails embedded in the club had torn off into his flesh, and moving was probably not a good idea. But he was so close to that boat, he  _ had  _ to reach it to see what was inside that attracted the cannibals.

Was there someone at all? Or was it just a boat that they had grouped around to use for more senseless acts?

He had to know.

He wasn't going to stop.

He crawled towards it, knees screaming for him to stop, blood leaving his body to splash gently in the dust. He was a sinking vessel.

_ Stop. Stay. _ His body wailed.

He wasn't stopping.

He lurched forward, coughing out blood before raising his head and straining his eyes over the boat to see...

Nothing.

_ No one. _

A boat of emptied supplies and broken stakes of wood from cannibal campgrounds. Blood smears here and there, but that was it.

Nothing. And no one.

His knee joints unlocked. His body fell forward, bruising his head, marking the boat with his blood. He didn't realize how much he had pushed his body, and now it badly needed to rest. His eyelids were falling, his gun finger shook. Anger flooded his veins, dizzying his mind to frustration,and he managed to move his jaw into a grin. What a joke he was. What a madness this was.

_ Stay,  _ he cried to himself. _ I stayed. I stayed. I had let too many go. _

_ And I stayed. _

_ Where is he? Where is she? _ He lost him. He lost her. No. He’d lost everyone. He had let everyone go for his own little joke. He was the joke. He had tossed the plan aside. 

There was no light beyond the tunnel.

Everyone was gone. He had let everyone go. For this little joke. 

_ And I stayed for the last laugh. _

A fleeting pain pierced his left leg made him cry out. 

_ No more, please, _ begged his whole body.

Another poke to his leg. He could tell it was a spearhead. Another cannibal.

On instinct, with every inch of his strength left in him, his shooting arm whirled around and fired at the figure looming behind him. Whoever it was, he didn't care anymore. He was acting on nothing but self-preservation.

He stayed.

Shadows covered the cannibal’s face as they backed away with the spear and Romania turned to face them, head still dizzy, eyes blinking back the milky fog in his sight. They could finish him off easily. They could...

_ No. _

The slinking form stumbled a few agonizing steps back, and it was killing him more efficiently than a dagger through the heart. 

Blood splattered the ground, a shoulder soaked in scarlet, a black scarfed hood falling back, revealing all-too familiar pale purple and gray eyes glazed in total fear.

_ No… _

Romania's heart fell with the gun to the dust. Tears streamed his face as he watched the boy staggering away from him. The child's eyes changed from fear to anger when he held his bleeding shoulder with quivering fingers. He glanced back one more time before saying a few words that would haunt Romania forevermore.

And like a ghost, the boy ran away and vanished leaving behind a broken spear, and a brother left longing for him till the end of his time.

Again.

_ Funny how life plays… _

What a joke he was.

He had just shot his own little brother.

* * *

_...I remember the first war we fought and the first time we danced in the battlefield. Blood hailed the skies of blades and shields. Men rallied and cut each other like monsters. _

_ I remember the time when the first Dacian and Magyar met each other's throats with a blade. _

_ We were both wearing the crest of our tribes and helmets over our faces, concealing our eyes from the friendship we thought we had. I still found you amidst the chaos. _

_ "Hah!" I swung a sword at your shield, shattering its core to splinters. I was a brute."You're not as good as me!" _

_ "Heh." You whirled around your falx, swiftly countering my second blow. "I'm just going easy on you." _

_ We circled. I striked, and you evaded. Once more. We hit each other’s blades until sparks stung our wrists. _

_ "Ow!" _

_ "Argh!" _

_ "I've fought better bunnies," I said, kicking you away from me. _

_ "Yeah, well. I’ve fought beasts!" You bruised my side. _

_ "You're out of your league!" _

_ "You don't even know the epicness of my league!" _

_ I laughed, countering your maneuver. "Yeah? It's too far down my league. I don't stoop that low." _

_ "Keep dreaming, Magyar!" You kicked me to the dust, but I intercepted your footing. _

_ We both fell to the dust, and I took off my helmet, unable to wipe the bewilderment etched on my face. You did the same, and you saw right through me. Behind a Magyar's mask and a Dacian helm we saw each other as enemies. _

_ "You?" We chorused. _

_ I pointed a blade to your nose. "Say you're sorry!" _

_ "Ladies first!" You were irritating. _

_ "Why?" I screamed. "Whose side are you on?" _

_ "You and your mongrels started this! I thought we were friends!"  _

_ "My boss was right. You people are disgusting!" _

_ "He's always right at being wrong!" You swore at me. _

_ "Stupid Dacian!" _

_ "Curse you, Magyar!" _

_ Our swords clashed once again in a deadly dance to defeat. We were so young back then.  _

_ Do you remember? _

_ I remember the prison you were in where my men had tossed you. Inside the cold stone dungeon, you were a broken-winged bird, glossy with tears. I remember the blood crawling down your face, and your deep rust eyes glistening through the gloom, brimming with hatred. _

_ I visited, and through the bars I felt a rare pity for you. _

_ "Stupid Dacian," I said. My mouth trembled. _

_ The sound of your shackles echoed. "Curse you, Magyar." _

The land was mine, _ I thought. _

_ "It's not my fault you stayed," I told him. My eyes narrowed. "They caught you and beat you up. You should've known you didn't stand a chance!" _

_ You smirked. " _ They _ are  _ your _ kind of menace!" _

_ "You were stupid to stay here and think you can change things!" _

_ When you didn't say anything for a while, I didn't feel proud. _

_ Your laughter broke the silence, and I had almost forgotten what we were fighting about.  _

_ "You slipped on a fish," you chuckled. "And you think I'm an idiot!" _

_ I felt my cheeks burn. "Forget that, you jerk!" _

_ Your smile fell. _

_ I felt ashamed again, so I had to say something to stop my mouth from quivering. My words were quiet and I couldn't look at you anymore. _

_ "I'm...I'm sorry you got yourself into this."  _ The land was mine, _ I repeated in my mind. _

_ "Curse you, Magyar..." you said. When I walked away, thinking that was all you said, you didn't think my heart caught the last three words through the gloom. _

_ "I'm sorry too..." you whispered, before I left you behind. _

_ I made a mistake.  _

_ Do you remember? _

* * *

Alive...

Or a dream...

A mere dream...

Insane...

The boy will bleed to death because of him. With every tiny ounce left of his strength, Romania kicked his gun away, surrendering to the cruel banks of a flooding Danube. Surrendering to his body's exhausted life. Surrendering to the thoughts of the Hungarian and the Swiss taking his people away from him to a better place. Safe, warm and filled with the green light of hope.

He surrendered to a silent an ethereal world of a forest with leaves, a palace of Nations, a cavern home and a life after death.

His eyes closed halfway.

_ "I remember you...I didn't mean to hurt you..." the boy had said. _

He remembered...

_ "I'm sorry," he had said, before fear made him run away again one last time. _

He remembered him...and that was all that mattered.

"I'm sorry too..." the Romanian Nation said.

And he surrendered to a forest of ruin.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading Part 1 of The Damned! I've designed this to be like a season finale of a show, so I cut it in two parts. Part 2 is coming soon~ Most likely in a couple of weeks.
> 
> There will also be an Epilogue! 
> 
> I'll update you as soon as they are ready~


	21. The Damned

 Part 2

* * *

The train had expired within a few hours of travel from Cluj, but that didn't stop the group from moving forward and following the plan - even if it had meant leaving Turkey and Romania. Switzerland felt like he was the unhappiest out of the four of them, seeing that Hungary looked quite content with her arms around Prussia and Austria. Their grins never fell, only shook at the mention of the names left behind.

Nation-beings were supposed to understand sorrow throughout the years of watching beloved leaders and friends die. It was a part of their nature. But something had changed in Switzerland after the Calamity, and he couldn't help but care so much more for those lost. He felt like Hungary had also understood the weight on their shoulders when a Nation died for their sake. He had tried to bring it up to her once, but she had only stared past the horizon and Prussia and Austria took her away from him.

Poland met them at Baia Mare with an appalling pink-painted truck and a couple of crewmen in leather.

Impressed by his luxuries, the Alpine was immediately curious of Poland's boy-band gang. Poland reassured his super cool gang was a trusted group of friends made up of fathers and mothers, something strikingly similar to how Romania had organized.

Switzerland wondered if an organization like this was simply common among the traditional countries in East Europe, and it may be possible given that Russia had survived and left the dead zones with his family. Nations intact.

Hungary and Austria - even Prussia - on the other hand, had a different strategy for their people when the Calamity struck.

The night of the reunion, Switzerland sat by the firelight of the camp. His gaze floated from the wary handful of figures guarding tents and patrolling the grounds. A group curled around another campfire, serving food to the young and old.

Hungary, Austria and Prussia were in one of the lit tents behind where he sat. He was guarding their tent from any of Romania's patrollers who would argue with them for leaving behind their saviour.

So far, when Hungary had returned, there had been a handful of the Romania's council, including Cosmin, who had confronted her with questions and scrutiny. Word spread, leaving over half of Romania's divisions worried and restless for their hero's absence.

In the end, Poland and Prussia had managed to calm them all down with some answers. Poland reassured them of new beginnings, while Prussia answered for Hungary's choices - Austria remained by her side, while Switzerland watched in the loop of things.

It had been two days since the Cluj cave destruction, and Hungary had urged for another two to three days time to rest in Poland before leaving for the safe zone across the sea. Switzerland knew she was buying time to wait for any signs of the Romanian who had made a promise…

"Look, I brought supper!" A little girl with dark hair and brown eyes approached him, wrapped sandwich in hand. She was named Nadia, one of the the youngest orphans Romania had cared for.

Switzerland nodded stiffly, and accepted the food with a small smile.

"Thanks," he said hesitantly. He didn't expect the little girl to sit by his side and flourish another wrap out of nowhere. She started munching it beside him with careless swinging feet as if the world was going wake up to a wonderful dawn. Switzerland felt a pang in his chest when he realized tonight was their last night in Poland before heading off to sea.

Switzerland swallowed a bite. "You learned that from Ro - Alex?"

Nadia chewed. "Mhmm!" She watched him curiously. "Did you like the sandwich?"

Those words hit Switzerland's heart when a memory of Liechtenstein resurfaced.

"Of course," he chuckled from the taste of cabbage between crusty bread. _It tastes, like sandwich,_ he answered her in his mind. "Do you miss him?"

"Hm?" Nadia blinked up at the Swiss Nation.

"Um...Alex..." Switzerland looked away from her. "I don't like how he always left you and the others to fend for yourselves..."

"We were happy," the little girl said, "and we _are_ happy...and we will always miss someone like him..."

Switzerland's eyes closed. He knew her pain very well, and like her, he'd let it all go.

"There is a train for us to move on," Nadia said softly. "There is also a forest with dragons, and there will always be bad things with the good things, but I am not afraid. He told me to never be afraid of the dragons in the forest..."

Switzerland opened his eyes and smiled at her. Before she could see it, she was already scuttling away to one of the children's tents.

 _"Never be afraid of the dragons in the forest..."_ the Swiss Nation whispered.

* * *

Hungary had counted six days on sea after they left Europe. A week was spent in Poland waiting for Romania's promised return to his people, but much to their dismay, he'd never showed up.

Poland led the communities and combined patrols with Romania's team. With Hungary's approval, they boarded the Russian ships to the west in a matter of a day. Other Nation-beings weren't there, but the crewmen of the ship knew their identities and assured safe travel.

Prussia was lucky to find some of his German boys - hoodlums, he'd called them affectionately - by the docks, waiting for their leader since their separation in Germany. Apparently some of them had boldly traveled to America already and messaged a hopeful report. Poland decided to spend time among the Russian crewmen after hauling up stragglers on board.

Hungary had only glanced back once, before disappearing into the ship alongside Austria - and that was when the last of the families filed into the cargo hold, all the while Switzerland busied himself with Romania's divisions.

Austria had provided Hungary with a pen and paper to distract herself with some writing. He would've given her a journal instead, but Poland had apparently snuck away with all the journals, citing secret diary purposes.

She still had Romania's division list and instructions, so she first busied herself with a news story on the incidents which had happened. Thanks to the Russian crew, there was enough paper to write with.

There was also an abundance of things to write about; the train wreck by the Danube, the Cluj cave community, ditches in Hungarian soil, and then finally bits and pieces about the Immunity and its effect on people. She had made Austria read that one, and approved of it to be published, but when the time came to publish any of her writing, she'd only published the Cave Community and the ingenuity of a Romanian country, mentioning the patrols and trainwreck and the genius plan to move to Poland. She wasn't going to criticize any more countries like Austria and his needle, or her own people's despair. She was going to praise one, and it was going to be Romania. And that was enough.

Austria and Prussia provided her company. Sometimes Switzerland would wander by her hall and pass a nod with a worried look. She could always tell he wanted her to show her face at a community talk or dance, but she'd always run away from it. Austria told her he was taking care of Nadia and Cosmin, and the other kids.

Prussia sometimes reported in something random, like how the ship wasn't awesome enough or this and that. Most of the time he occupied himself with his young Germans in games with Poland and some of the crewmen who tagged along. They were one elated group, onboard entertaining the divisions.

Her Polish friend, sensing her need for space, never really visited her quarters, but she did hear of his doings now and again. Prussia said the blonde was either found talking to the Russian captain about plans and supplies, or in the kitchens to helping with the food and chatting up old Gabi, or bouncing around the decks getting to know families.

"Count on Poland to try to organize a party in a ship," Austria mused. One time, apparently Poland spooked Switzerland for a laugh and Austria said he'd wished he witnessed the reaction.

People were occupying themselves with old board games, playing cards, and dice. Austria told her Poland and Prussia's team had helped provide the games. Some of the families had even volunteered to have little dances using whatever they can find for music like spoons and kitchen ware…

Austria wandered around, learning about the families and reporting back to her. Hungary noticed he was healing within a good community, regaining a normalcy he'd lost. Not once was the Immunity ever brought up again, and not once did he try to attack someone. It was all but a faded dream to him now, though she knew he was haunted forever with a missing hand. Alongside him stood Switzerland with every step, and together they helped reshape a sense of happiness within the families.

She had invited the two of them in her room for important documents to adhere to. It was the ninth night on board and she was determined to settle things before appearing in America.

With Austria and Switzerland's help, she wrote a few declarations and new documents, mainly about country re-establishments and policies. She handled Romania's, Turkey's, Bulgaria's and even Moldova's, while Austria took care of Germany's, among other countries the Immunity had affected. Switzerland finished Liechtenstein's, Belgium's, Netherland's and finally they wrote for their own.

They were going to rebuild other nations first, and then return to their own plans. For Romania's declarations, Hungary finished it with her signature, approving all rights to remain with the Romanian people, not to her. She had also added that there was no debt to pay between them.

Sixteenth day on board.

Prussia's newest random tidbit was that there were over a thousand people on board, including all of Romania's community, and that he earned himself a stalker who he had yet to confront. His reason: too awesome not to have a stalker.

Hungary barely ate. She didn't mind though. Lately she much preferred meat - so did Austria. She wondered if becoming anti-vegetable was the worse of Immunity's side effects. Prussia had a smaller dose of the needle, and never got as addicted as Austria - and Hungary, who'd injected more than she thought before plunging into a ditch.

Hungary barely slept, and when she did her nights were dreamless and empty. Insomnia exhausted her, hollow nights terrified her - she felt like she was drowning in darkness - and she hoped it was only because of the Immunity.

She missed dreaming. She never minded if she'd forget her dreams the second she'd wake, but dreams were escapes of their own and having none of them felt like the life was draining out of her mind. The empty nights were too quiet, and during those hours, she felt like she was dead.

On the night before their arrival to America, Hungary bumped into Nadia and Cosmin talking to Switzerland down the hall. Nadia spotted her and waved. Before anyone else could greet her, Hungary bolted to her room, shutting the door behind her.

She kept asking herself why she hadn't gotten over it. Several days had passed already, and she had buried the thoughts of Turkey behind a mask and the fleeting moments with Bulgaria. And yet for some damned reason, she wasn't over her one particular rival.

_Damn him._

_To hell with Romania,_ she thought with her fists clenched. Why didn't she just drag him away from his maddening goal to find his little brother? Only rumoured to be alive. _Why wasn't he like Prussia who had moved on?_

Prussia had trusted his little brother to be alive on his own, and so did Romania for a little while. _Then again, Germany was a lot more capable than a ten year old in the wilderness_ , Hungary thought.

Hands soaked in tears, she fell to her knees and barred the door with her quivering back. She knew someone could hear her crying, muffled through her palms. The walls of the room felt like a cave and a prison. She didn't feel deserving of the children's smiling faces and the hopeful ship of men and women ready to live again. They were _his_ people. Not hers.

He saved her but she hadn't done the same -

A knocking on the door interrupted her thoughts.

"No Gilbert, not tonight!" she said on impulse, her tone clearly annoyed. "And if that's you Roderich I - I can't talk right now, I told you I need some space - !"

"Lizzy...?" Poland's voice lifted her head. "It's me..."

She hadn't seen the Polish Nation for days, and when they had reunited in Europe, it felt so brief. He hadn't visited her ship quarters at all since he'd been busy on board.

Hungary felt the need to talk to him. When she opened the door, she fought the urge to cry in his arms.

"I'm sorry," she sniffled. "I thought you were Gil - "

"It's totally cool, Liz." He smiled. "Can I come in? Like, we seriously need to do your hair and paint your nails and stuff..."

"It's been a while, Feliks..." she grinned, welcoming him into the room with open arms. She was a mess, and she didn't protest when the Polish Nation set up a kit on her bedside table.

"I know," he sighed. "So, like, I'm totally sorry about that." He pulled out a chair and offered her a seat in front of a small mirror he brought in. "I've been like super busy doing a lot of stuff here and there, up and down. Like, my legs are seriously having a total work out! Anyways, Lizzy, we'll totally catch up later, but like right now," he pulled out a comb from his bag, "Have a seat so I can seriously comb your hair."

Hungary joined him with a smile. She wasn't surprised - he had probably raided a deserted beauty salon for a grooming kit. She supposed his hobby distracted him from the desolate world.

"Okay, this is totally me trying to cheer you up Liz," he beamed, brushing back tufts of curls from her hair. She found it soothing.

There was a party he had organized tonight at the main hold of the ship. She heard it was to celebrate their last night before reaching America at dawn. Hungary had declined the invitation, and maybe that was why Poland was here.

"I'm not going to that party, Feliks," she said stubbornly.

He sighed. "Oh Lizzy...this isn't about that. I'm here 'cause I haven't talked to you in ages."

In her silence she let him unclip Illes' flower to loop her hair in a braided bun.

"I know you totally don't want to talk about that stuff," he said, returning the flower in her palm. "So, like, I completely understand."

"No." She didn't want to hold back a sob rising in her throat. "I have to ask you something, Poland..."

He finished the braided loop of locks on her head and sat by her side on the cot. "What's up?"

She knew he missed his old friend Lithuania, and that this journey away from his land was to finally see him again in America. But he had left behind a good home with survivors, and at this time, there was a lingering dread for unattended countries and neglected Nations.

"Aren't you worried about what you left behind in your country?" she asked, her fingers curling around her hairpin.

Poland's eyebrows crinkled and his shoulders sagged. Suddenly Hungary wished she hadn't asked. His cheerful face was shockingly distressed, a surprising contrast to his usual smiling demeanor. She was about to change the subject when he answered, "I am..."

Hungary looked at him through the tears.

"I _am_ worried that I left," Poland murmured, "Like, I didn't want to leave, but I like to think that what I did was wake up from a nightmare, and to be totally honest, Lizzy..." He smiled again with a light in his eyes he'd carried for years. "I feel like I need to see the world again, even if it is on the other side..."

The words hung in a heavy silence between them, like a fog looming over their heads, erasing the world for a moment of thought. When the Polish Nation left her quarters for the evening party, Hungary felt she should finally do the same.

Head held high and linking arms with Poland, she surprised Prussia, Austria and even Switzerland that night at the party. She was shy among the families around her, since she'd been absent during most of the whole trip and she'd hardly talked to any of them.

Nevertheless she was welcomed again, and together among friends and kind faces they held a memorable night of celebration in the warmth and comfort of both people and Nation. They talked and danced, laughed and sang and ate, and for a while, the night's entertainment dismissed their troubles and tossed them overboard.

Yet even with the enthralling lights and dancing, Hungary still felt haunted. It was as if someone was watching her closely like a ghost in the midst of a crowd…

* * *

_...I remember the first time we ever met. I had strayed from the path of my friends and stumbled into a forest. I was running away from a game of hide and seek, and I wasn't looking where I was going._

_I stumbled and crashed right onto you, and we fell down into a stream. It was a little part of the Danube we shared and I never knew who really lived on the other side until that day. You were exploring my land._

_Fish swam around us, splashing against the gentle current. One leapt at my face and I stumbled on something wriggling around my feet. When I tripped and fell forward, I landed right in your arms and accidentally planted my lips on yours for a mere second._

_"Bleh! Get off me!" you spat, falling back into the water, drowning your face. I was just as confused._

_"Eurgh! Did I just kiss you?" I rubbed my lips with the back of my hand._

_You looked stunned. "Ugh. No! You slipped on a fish!"_

_"A fish?!"_

_"Lots of fishes swim in this stream."_

_"Oh!" Puzzled, I stood up against the current._

_Fish continued to swim around us, sticking their scales to our skin. You yelped for a moment when a tailfin slapped your arm. I burst out laughing until a funny looking catfish leapt to my face and I screamed._

_"You're afraid of a little fish!" you laughed, and I pouted._

_"Yeah? You're going to smell stinky!"_

_"So will you!" you joked. "We'll get along swimmingly."_

_"Not in this current situation!"_

_"Wow." You smiled and gazed up at me. "Is there something fishy going on between us?"_

_I chuckled. "You're so weird!" I couldn't think of a comeback through my laughter. We were both drenched and laughing at each other like a couple of crazies. Then you suddenly stopped and stared at me._

_"Uh oh," you said, and two sharp teeth winked at me from your mouth._

_"What?"_

_"Your lips are bleeding."_

_"Whah?!" With my fingers I felt a little cut on my bottom lip. It was your fault. "Heeeeey! You - "_

_"Sorry about that. I have a couple of pointy teeth like - "_

_"Are you a vampire?" I gasped in panic._

_"Why do people always say that?" You narrowed your eyes at me. "No! My boss says I got it from my Dacian-blood...and noooo, they're not vampires!"_

_"You're one of them?!" My eyes widened._

_You grinned. "Well, my mom is like the super cool Dacia. She's not given me a name yet but she likes calling me Ro sometimes, like Grandpa Rome if you've met him..." I nodded. "Everyone here calls me Wallachia." You held out a dripping hand_

_"Nice to meet you!"_

_I hesitantly took your hand and helped you up on your feet. "Wall-wally shee...walleesha...keeah...? Chia?"_

_You frowned. "Almost."_

_"I like Dacia better!" I smiled, pleased by the silly scowl on your face._

_"But that's not - no that's like my mom's - "_

_"It just sounds a lot cooler than Wall-sheesh-yeah!" I giggled._

_"You're just gonna call me that to annoy me aren't you?"_

_"Yup!"_

_You rolled your eyes and mumbled, "Well, you're such a_ Magyar _."_

_I repeated your words. "And you're just going to call me that to annoy me too?"_

_"Yup."_

_"Whatever." I shrugged and placed my hands on my hips. "I don't mind. I guess we're even on that...And you know you're not supposed to be here. What were you doing on my side of the river anyway?"_

_We forgot we were still in the middle of a creek; our legs submerged among the tickling fish._

_"Um...this side's not - " You were about to argue when we both heard someone calling in the distance._

_"Liiiiiz!"_

_"Eliza?"_

_Do you remember when Prussia and Austria had different names back then? They were little warriors and princes of the past and they called for me in the forest where we were playing..._

_I looked at you sadly and turned to my side of the river. I offered you my hand, but you'd already turned away for the other direction._

_"Hey, Dacian!" I called you back. "Why are you going that way?" I wanted to introduce you to my friends. I wanted you to be my friend._

_"Our bosses don't like each other, Magyar." You looked back, but you were already on the other side._

_"Okay, but we can still be friends!" I said stubbornly. "If I ever see you around in battle and stuff...let me know who you are okay? I don't want to accidentally kick a fishy friend's butt!" I laughed, waving at your silly face across the river._

_"Okay!" You grinned and waved in return. "You should go! They're calling you!"_

_I didn't know why but I remembered I never said the word goodbye to you that moment. Maybe I did, but I know in my heart I didn't. And you never did either when I turned and left._

_Somehow, we knew something about the word 'goodbye' or 'farewell' that was too much for both of us. It was like the word held people apart, and we never said it because we knew we'd see each other again._

_"See you around, Magyar!" I heard you call._

_"Another time, Dacian!" I said smiling. When I glanced over my shoulder across the river, you were already gone._

_Do you remember?_

_I do._

_And I will never forget._

* * *

It was written in a dark purple and pink marker on a thin folded piece of paper, creased and opened for the note to blare out its message in the dark. Switzerland's fingers curled around the door knob and froze when he read the words that felt like they were engraved on the metal door.

With Poland's curly signature at the bottom, it said, _"You'll totally understand why I had to keep him a secret..."_

Before he had ended up paralyzed in the middle of a dark room of the cabin hold, the Alpine had been outside the ship, which had finally arrived in its safe haven.

He had witnessed Prussia reunite with Germany in a loud, arm-bruising manner - a "LOOK HOW AWESOME THIS LOSER IS" proclamation was heard probably across the whole country. He watched Austria being escorted to a clinic alongside Spain and France who, despite missing limbs too, were nevertheless just as overjoyed to see them arrive. Hungary joined America, Russia, Britain and Japan in a discussion of search parties and return trips for any more survivors. Poland walked side by side with Lithuania and the other Baltics, helping families by the dockside.

Switzerland felt a smile spread across his face when he stood by the rail of the ship waiting for the line of communities to end. They piled up at the docks and were eventually escorted out to separate camps, supervised by designated generals and Nation-beings.

Switzerland had found Sweden and Finland's familiar faces in the crowd, sorting out Romania's divisions. He had also spotted Sealand with them, and a hurt in his heart reminded him of Netherlands' deal with Belgium - Denmark and Sealand had been there before shots were fired. Switzerland suddenly wondered whatever happened to their younger brother, Luxembourg.

Right when he was about to enter the docks to greet the Nations, Poland appeared out of nowhere and pulled him aside, dragging him back on board the ship.

"Switzy, Switzy, Switzy," sang the Polish Nation. "I totally, like, need you to do me a favour!"

"I hope this is not about that magical pony you've been telling me about, " Switzerland groaned. He was really hoping to speak to the other Nations upon arrival - not waste time on Poland's silly talks about ponies and his pink painted fingernails...

But the moment he reached the door Poland told him to go to, he suddenly felt like he'd been a fool to dismiss the Polish Nation so quickly with little explanation.

He had been wrong to suspect nothing more than silly games from Poland after all this time. He should've suspected something. He should've noticed a secret kept well hidden below deck concealed behind a closed door.

The end of the hallway was like a light at the end of a tunnel.

He stopped before it, paralyzed by the note on its door face as if it had hit him with a brick.

 _"Understand why…?"_ Switzerland gaped, repeating the words with his hand still around the doorknob. "Keep... _a secret_...?" His mind was whirling around who this 'him' could be.

He opened the door.

The room was like every cabin room of the ship; a simple cot bed with a couple of blankets, a table beside it, some hooks for clothing or other assorted items, and a chair by the bed. However, this room contained more than the usual blanket and bed supplies. It had a journal on its table, boots by the foot of the bed, and a black ratty scarf hanging on the chair pulled beside it.

Switzerland didn't notice at first, but there was a curled up figure on the bed with their back turned to him. At first glance, he mistakened it for a large pillow.

The secret.

It moved. Curiously looking over their shoulder to see the Alpine visitor.

Switzerland's heart skipped a beat.

It was the boy.

Grey purple eyes greeted him, one more faded than the other. The child who was doomed to die sat before him.

Switzerland staggered a few steps away, hitting the metal door shut with his back. It occurred to him that he had also been in a similar situation with Austria many weeks ago, but this was even more shocking. It was like seeing a ghost, alive and breathing.

The boy sat on the bed looking up at him, bewildered. Switzerland could hardly breathe. Suddenly the child's whole body drooped, his brows wrinkled to hide a hiccup and a tear slipping through glossy eyes.

"I...I'm sorry," the boy whimpered, his gaze to the floor. "I'm having a hard time remembering. But...I know - I know you - and I - " he choked. "I remembered my big brother...and I...I remember running away after he shot me! And - and Bulgaria was different and I was scared - I don't remember a lot but my shoulder really hurt! I don't know, it just got better and I knew..."

Without hesitating, Switzerland crossed the room and embraced him. He enveloped the child, and he didn't even flinch. The boy welcomed it and held him in return, crying on his shoulder.

Even with faded memories, all that really mattered to Switzerland was that the boy survived. The feeling of hot tears on his clothes were enough proof he was real - not a ghost of the past.

The boy spoke of a shot to his shoulder and the dread in Romania's eyes. The boy had ran away in fear from all the troubles, bleeding to death...and then he _healed_. The boy told him of his painful revelation and return for his brother, only to find nothing there and no one left. Even the bodies of those Romania had killed sank in the depths of the river Danube.

And so the boy followed the train tracks, driven farther away from his brother. Swept up in a sea of people, he rode a new vessel away from a nightmare and a homeland.

Switzerland realized had this child not been kept a secret, no doubt they would have been forced to turn the ship around for Romania again. Hungary would've been furious at being kept in the dark, and would not have had it any other way. But it would've been too soon for a return, and there were too many other lives at stake.

"...too late!" the boy wept. "I remembered him too late! Now he's gone! I was so stupid! I didn't know! I've lost him!"

Switzerland held on to him, his throat felt dry.

_Was it too late?_

_No..._

"It'll be alright..." Switzerland consoled, remembering he had once told a sister those words.

"You didn't lose him, Moldova..."

* * *

_She fell silent during the trip. The sound of a plane in the distance was all the goodness in the world to her. Nothing seemed to burden the Belgian's smile, even being in the worst case scenarios, like being stuffed in a truck to nowhere, promised a brother at the end of the line._

_Switzerland regarded her curiously. Green eyes, almost hazel, and golden brown hair that shone like marbled milk chocolate. Sunlight streamed through the cracks of the vehicle doors, touching her skin with a warm glow. A velvet ribbon -_

_"What?" Belgium smiled at him._

_Switzerland suddenly realized he was staring and quickly looked away, clearing his throat._

_"Nothing."_

_She chuckled. "Hey, if you're worried that they're not taking us to my brother, I will kick their asses and take care of you."_

_He laughed. "Sure."_

_She sighed. "Don't worry, Vash," she said, looking away from him after a pause. The light in her eyes fading distantly to dream a sunset over the horizon._

_He wondered if she was imagining her brother's embrace right now, beyond the cold steel walls of this truck._

_"Well whatever happens, I'll be with y - " Switzerland stopped himself._

_"Around," he finished, a little aware of a flush in his cheeks. "Umm - yeah. I'll be around to help you. Find your brother. We'll find him. He's out there somewhere. We'll take care of whoever's in our way. It'll be alright. I've done it before..." He cleared his throat again. "We'll be fine."_

_Belgium's lips turned to a smiled when her gaze fell on him. It was an unforgettable smile._

_"Even if we don't find him after all this," she said softly. "You'll take care of me?"_

_Switzerland nodded. "Of course," he promised her, holding on to the memory of her green eyes._

_In her hair Liechtenstein's ribbon caught a touch of the sunlight._

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "We'll get along swimmingly." (Bringing back this line from a previous chapter! Remember in when Ro wrecked the train...?)
> 
> "Eurgh! Did I just kiss you?" (Reason why Ro wanted to dismiss Hungary's recollection of this childhood memory mentioned a while back. There's a popular headcannon I encountered and used here that Ro's first kiss was Hungary, and he hates to bring it up - I didn't dive into that in this story though. In another favourite headcanon of mine, Hun's first kiss was from someone else ;))
> 
> "...Austria being escorted to a clinic alongside Spain and France..." (Refers to Gutters - the inspiration for Retrace. *spoilers* Spain lost a leg, and France was missing an arm.)
> 
> "In her hair Liechtenstein's ribbon..." (I had been itching to write a flashback for Switzerland and Belgium, for a while and I'm happy to end this with it. This refers to the chapter way back when he and Belgium were tossed in a truck after their Scarlet Baron got bombed, and I hope that was clear enough in a sentence...)
> 
> ""...I'll be with y - " Switzerland stopped himself." (Was there a Swiss/Bel thing happening throughout the series? I don't know about you, but in this story, she inspired him and he admired her in the end. In a strange way, Ro did the same with Hun, and Hun did the same with Ro. Only...yeah tragic stuff just happens. I wanted to show relationships change in Retrace and I hope that's clear...)
> 
> "See you around, Magyar!" "Another time, Dacian!" (I like keeping a headcanon that they still call each other nicknames like Magyar and Dacian, for playful reasons. Obviously you can argue for any inaccuracies, but I just think it's cute. ;) Furthermore, if you notice, Retrace has kept histories vague, so I kept true to that and left out actual dates of when Ro had ever encountered Hungary. I like to think it was the time when she knew the young embodiments of Prussia and Austria back then...)
> 
> "...my mom is like the super cool Dacia." (I figured this headcanon sounded quite fitting...thanks Emm(francofous)! ;u;)
> 
> "...and then he healed." (A headcanon of my own! Nations can heal from the loss of other Nations. In here, when Moldova healed, he just started recalling things. Remember a portion of his brain was touched in the Calamity? The gunshot he received from his brother aided healing capabilities to wake up. I also have a headcanon that when Nation-beings die, like guiding souls, they pass their lives to close Nations that survived. It was evident with Switzerland and Hungary, for Liechtenstein and Turkey, and now it is happening to Moldova. In time, they heal themselves to live on.)
> 
> Thank you for reading!!! If you have any more questions I have not yet addressed in a ramble, please send them over in a review! :D
> 
> All my thanks and my final thoughts will be in the upcoming last page...


	22. The Damned

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the last piece of Retrace everyone! Although there is a sequel (below)~
> 
> It feels so good to finish this piece how I wanted it from the very beginning...and now without further or do let us wrap this up with all my love and thanks to you all and let us raise a glass in toast to an end...

 

Part 3 - Epilogue

* * *

_It's been three whole months. This will be my last report to you._

_I am keeping track of the countries lined up to rebuild themselves. Switzerland refused to make himself a priority until other Nations, like Romania's, are remade. Countries like Turkey and Bulgaria are provided land, but are still empty of survivors. Switzerland, Luxembourg and Spain temporarily merged to piece together other lost Nations, food and water has been good in America, people have been served well and everyone is cooperating._

_I am pleased to tell you that your people are thriving and I will take care of them until their true leader takes this seat. Some of them like my leadership, but I can never replace you. I tell them to pass that down to your little brother when he is ready._  
_That's right._

_Moldova._

_He survived, and he will be a great leader for your country._

_Ukraine, Poland and I are helping him get started. Switzerland volunteered to mentor him as well as look after him. We found a family who had a Bulgarian background, so we have someone to tell him about his old friend. Departed friends and family, person or Nation-being, were given a cross and a memorial here. I told them that I will do the honours in planting yours at your country if I do not find you there._

_It's only been three months and we're already rebuilding ourselves. The patrollers moved up to becoming generals and commanders, and they're slowly steering us out of disorder with our firm presence in the council..._

_What annoyed me was when we weren't allowed to return to Europe these past few weeks because they were putting it under quarantine. Poland protested with me and in the end, they let him go back first with Lithuania to help move any survivors out of the dead zones. They made me wait for a few more days until I finished some damn paperwork. At least I wasn't alone on the waitlist. Austria and Prussia didn't mind, and Switzerland was too busy with Moldova to return just yet._

_Your little brother misses you. He's remembering more of you day after day. Sometimes he cries in his sleep, and I hear Switzerland try to comfort him with words or a lullaby. I can feel an ache in my chest when I hear Moldova cry. I don't know how to comfort him. I don't think I can after all that has happened. I wouldn't know what to say._

_I do tell him more about you everyday. Good things. Like how you saved me. How your patience kept us going. How you risked your silly life for us..._

_Damn you._

_The pain of your people and the life of your brother is burdening me now. Not only do I carry Turkey's memory, but yours as well. I believe Moldova is feeling Bulgaria's pain too._

_This will be some hell to get used to for a while. Thanks._

_When will I ever get you out of my head?_

_Yeah. Thanks for all this, jerk._

_Damn you._

_Elizaveta._

* * *

"Goodbye, Romania…"

Hungary never knew she would say goodbye until now. She never knew a real farewell existed between them. She hated him, but she'd never really thought that she could lose him. He'd beat her to Death's gate, and he was going to gloat when she got there.

Hungary had many instances when she just wanted to burn these letters and forget about him. Finally.

But no.

That was going to prove challenging with the new weight on her shoulders.

She did not know why she'd even brought the creased and worn words here. Maybe because of the fact they were written for him. It had been about a hundred days since he'd been lost. That wasn't anywhere near the longest time they'd ever been apart before, but this was different.

This was real.

A month ago, she had stood at a grave in America's safe zone. She had witnessed a burial of Nations and a remembrance of some whose bodies were missing. Romania's name was on that list, no matter how much she wanted to erase it. He had been buried. She hated it.

Now, here she was standing by the muddy banks of the expanded river Danube, facing the remnants of train wreckage slowly disintegrating in the watery grave.

She wasn't supposed to care this much about this cursed fang-toothed nation, but the faces of his people haunted her. It was as if every glance was _him_ giving her a look, a smile and a nod, and all she could feel was guilt beneath her façade. Deep down and buried in her heart, she admitted she really did not want to lose her favourite enemy...her only real rival.

It was the first time in a while she'd stood there by the Danube, savouring the solitude and standing tall. She wore Turkey's scarf freshly washed, her hair was tied up in a loose braid cascading down her shoulder, and Illes' flower still pinned a tuft over her eyes. It was the first time in a while she'd had her hair braided.

Along the banks of the river were memories of the past ruins, and if Hungary looked closely at the ethereal lights through the grey desolate horizon, she could see ghostly figures of corpses.

"It's been three whole months," her voice rose, almost crumpling the letters. "Nadia turned seven years old last week, and you missed out on Gabi dancing at the birthday party!"

The world was empty and eerie. It hadn't changed much since they'd abandoned this part of it. Fog felt like the only living form in the wasteland.

"...your patrollers have been recruited under America and Germany's scouting team, including Lanky. Cosmin's made new friends with Prussia and...you're missing out on all those things, you asshat!"

Seeing the charred trees again was like returning to a prison; the black bars reminded Hungary of what had happened through these ashen trails. It was haunting.

"Idiot." She groaned with exasperation. No one was there to hear her anger. Austria and Switzerland were busy with a scouting team far on the north side, salvaging what was left of the caves. Moldova was with them.

And Hungary was here. She strayed. She wandered. And ended up here. Talking to herself. In the ruins of the past she could have buried a long time ago.

"Asshat. Idiot. Jerkface. Toothy little shit…"

She could always think about her own country's broken buildings, and sink holes and ditches, every corner littered with the dead. _Her_ dead. But no.

She was thinking about her stupid dead rival, the one out of all the damned Nations who saved her - and had actually tolerated her through it all.

Taking in a deep long breath, Hungary walked down the banks of the river, recalling the grass, dreaming of the gentle sunlight sparkling against the river water, lending it an airy glow. She thought about the rich leaves on the trees, smelling of fresh bark.

She thought of a creek with fish...and a boy...

Hungary turned away. She swore to herself she did not miss him. He was an idiot. An idiot for breaking his promise to his people. An idiot for missing out on all the festivities in the other side of the world. An idiot for shooting aimlessly like a madman, scaring his brother away.

Hungary burst in sardonic laughter. "By the way! I almost forgot to tell you, your little brother Moldova is with us! Hah! You're missing that! He made Switzerland a sandwich!" She knew yelling at the wasteland was not going to change anything.

"So, funny story!" She went on anyway. "He would be crowned the next ruler of Romania! You'll like that..."

This was not going to change the fact that he was gone. He had been buried. But she could pretend her words had meaning. _If a fool shouts in the wasteland and no one hears, do their words even matter anymore? The world was dead and bitter. It was the end._

"Yes well...you're going to miss out on that party too..."

She hardly noticed a tear crawl down her cheek until she stopped at the sight of the place Moldova had mentioned in his report. A lonely upturned boat, stained with blood. Pieces of debris that were probably leftover plane or train parts clung to the banks with the skeletons.

There had not a thorough cleanup in this section of land since last month's quarantine, when the Nations were not allowed to set foot. No one knew of this side of the river.

Without a second's hesitation, she marched up to the boat, tucked away the letters into her pocket, and lifted up the wooden vessel from its muddy grave.

She had hoped Romania's cursed corpse was lying around this area - an upturned boat was a good place to hide. But all she saw was mud and unrecognizable, washed out footprints.

Hungary's nails dug into the wood of the boat when she turned it over haphazardly.

"You are such an idiot, _Románia!_ " she cried.

Frustrated, she grabbed a stick of metal and started smashing the boat with it. She clubbed the boat to splintering pieces, punctuating every sentence with an especially hard blow.

"Idiot for not telling me Turkey was dying!" she cried out. "Idiot for not telling me you built a Merry Cemetery! Idiot for digging me out of that ditch! Idiot for taking care of my friends! Idiot for trusting me! And saving me - and letting me in your stupid caves - and - Argh!" She had destroyed as much of the boat as she could without feeling like chopping splinters.

Legs weak and body aching from the rush of adrenaline, she stooped, picked up a few relatively unharmed boards, and limped under a tree with her bounty. Her back hit the charred trunk, causing the soot to fly and making her cough for a moment to breathe.

The world was still silent.

 _This was_ not _going to change the fact that he is gone_ , she kept telling herself.

She tore the hairband from her braid and tied together the two planks of wood, creating a cross.

"The world is not flat..." she recalled. "It keeps on turning...I'm moving on, but why are you still haunting me?" Another tear slipped down her face and she quickly wiped it off.

"Still driving me insane even after you died," she sighed, stabbing the dirt by the tree with the cross she made.

Austria had sent her out on a mission to find a good spot to place a memorial for Romania. If he ever found this poorly made tilted cross, she'd make a joke about it and say Romania would've prefered something this pathetic.

She fished out the letters she'd written of the childhood memories they'd shared, and one of her only journal entries reporting Moldova and the other Nations alive.

It was now time to let it all go.

She folded the pages and slipped them through the middle hairband knot of the cross, forming a flower shape with the papers. The Hungary before would have simply asked someone else to make his grave, but the Hungarian now, felt more respect for her rival than any other enemy she ever had. The thought of him dead was still unbelievable. It had been so long and he was a close neighbour no matter the fights...

But it was time to let it all go.

Hungary regarded her work sadly and a faint smile graced her lips.

"Stupid Dacian..." she said, grinning at the silly cross in front of her. She could do a better job -

The three words floated distantly to her ears, making her gasp and bolt right up to her feet. They were enough to send her reeling around for the source.

She couldn't see him.

_There was nothing there…_

Was she _dreaming...?_

_A ghost...it was a ghost..._

_"...curse you, Magyar..."_

Suddenly something hit her on the head and fell to the earth. She glanced at it, seeing a familiar Immunity needle on the ground. Emptied.

Hungary's heart leapt before she dared to look up in disbelief. Her gaze flew to the blackened tree.

Perched at the very top, his clothes were darkened from the soot. To anyone who passed by, he appeared like a part of the tree. For the Hungarian, even through her glossy eyes, his fanged-toothed smile was plain to see, like a light in the dark.

His laugh was barely audible through a cough and a rasp in his throat, but he still looked down at her with that familiar old smirk.

"You saved me..."

Her only answer to that was a smile. Another tear crept from her eye. She ignored it.

Neither of them wanted to say thank you to each other, but they didn't have to. Glaring down at each other was enough. She was probably going to kill him later for listening the whole time and not calling out earlier, and he was most likely going to return the favor after she ruined his last surviving boat for a lame tilted cross that was supposed to mark his tomb.

Still. She was glad he was alive, and he was glad she'd found him in _**the end.**_

* * *

**(~)**

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Last Writer's Rambling Thanks ~
> 
> Thank you so dearly to my reviewers! And special dear thanks to Emma, Louise, Melanie, Karlene, Grace, Sarah, Kahl, Jade, Char, Iulian, and the RoNetwork, the Romaniacs and the Ro community3
> 
> Thank you so, so much for following Romania, Hungary and Switzerland in this journey for so long! It has been three years since I started this story with you, and it has been an incredible life-changing ride! I have met so many wonderful people in the Romania fandom because of this, and I am completely grateful. What a learning experience and it was a fangtastic story on its own~
> 
> Let me know your final thoughts and I will address them to the best of my abilities.
> 
> Now this isn't the last I write for Retrace really.
> 
> I am finishing a one-shot/drabble with drawings for Bulgaria and Moldova's side story. Call it a sequel in journal entry form!
> 
> Notice there was a journal Moldova had at the ship when Switzerland found him? Yep~ Guess who's journal that was...
> 
> This will be posted with drawings and available in saviourro tumblr and ArchiveofOurOwn this coming September. I can provide a written copy in here in fanfic net, however they would not allow my the illustrations though.
> 
> Anyway enjoy this little excerpt/sneak peek!
> 
> ( ~ )
> 
> Retracing Footsteps...
> 
> June 9
> 
> "I am the Nation of Bulgaria.
> 
> I sometimes call myself Borisov or Bogdan Zhivko. I look like the age of twenty four.
> 
> I have friends. Romania, Moldova and Serbia to name a few.
> 
> And I write my name here as a pledge to remind myself of who I am and who I was before this hell.
> 
> I am the country of Bulgaria. I carry Bulgaria. Remember, remember, Bulgaria."
> 
> I am pretty sure I'll write more in this notebook, but for now, I'm happy with just this one page. Two paragraphs briefly about myself translated in both English, and the one above it in Cyrillic, and below these two, was a reminder to remember what both languages are and how to write it. Abc.  
> Damn yeah I'm paranoid.  
> But who isn't right now?
> 
> I am curled up on a roof of a broken down building, leaning against what used to be a pickup truck. Its passenger seats bloodstained, its people gone, and I lean by the car door, frowning at the pages of this journal on my knees. There's barely anyone in the streets. They're either buried dead or hiding.
> 
> Now is the time to write about hell best described with some poetic language. Why? Because I am a poet.  
> And a damn good one.  
> Not a lot of people seem to know that about me.  
> I keep it a secret talent.
> 
> And so I sit here. On this broken down building that is barely a building.  
> Covered in a blanket and hiding in plain sight.  
> Everything's in ruins in this part of the city. Believe me.
> 
> A fading flashlight between my teeth and a journal on my lap, writing shit down like crazy.  
> Alone and unafraid.  
> I write.
> 
> Evening of June 9  
> Entry#1
> 
> The calamity struck with the flames of hell, crumbling earth in its wake like brittle pastry bitten by the jaws of a nature's wrath.  
> Wow. People went mad.  
> Crazy pandemonium it was. Like in those crazy movies.  
> I did my part. I ran in to help them. I tried rallying survivors to cooperate, but when your bosses forget you even exist, it's hard to stop a civil war. They got a new political party from the desperation and forgot about me.  
> We are supposed to be their guiding lights and saviors, but people can easily turn a blind eye and make us sick. When that happens, we have no choice but turn into their shadows.
> 
> I supported them...


End file.
